


Against the Dying of the Light

by LottaCharlene



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, Strangers to Lovers, Surviving in the zombie apocalypse, very slow slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-01-11 02:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 108,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18420600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottaCharlene/pseuds/LottaCharlene
Summary: After escaping Terminus, Rick's family is at their strength's end. When the walls of yet another community loom over their heads, they must decide if they take the risk to seek refuge in this new community. They are met with a strange tradition that they are still willing to follow through for the sake of their family's well-being. Soon enough, they realize that they found a place that they could call home again. But the peace is treacherous and yet again they have to fight for their freedom and the lifes of the people they love.Unexpectedly, Daryl is the one that has to fight for more than just his family.





	1. Prologue: The Arrival of the Gunslinger

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this thing just grew from a quick idea into something huge. It is still not finished, but I'm working hard on it. It probably will consist of two parts with several chapters each. I may be editing already posted chapters a bit as the story line goes on, but I'm fairly certain that it won't contain huge changes.
> 
> Second, English is not my mother tongue and I write to practice the language. So please excuse any typos or falsly used tenses, I give my best ;-)
> 
> Third, please feel free to contact me if you think that I should add/change any tags, warnings or the rating of the story. I'm usually a bit lax here or forgetful.
> 
> Fourth and last, this really is a very slow burn, so if you're looking for something quick and dirty, I have to dissapoint you. The whole development will take time. A lot of time. But I have so much fun writing this that I hope you'll have just as much fun reading it. :-) This is my first fic for this fandom and my longest so far.

Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
Because their words had forked no lightning they  
Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,  
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,  
Do not go gentle into that good night. 

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

Thomas Dylan, Do not go gentle into that good night

+++

Rick was almost ready to give into defeat, when the walls came into view. First, he thought he was hallucinating. Their water had ran out two days ago. The dogs had been their last meal even longer ago. Judith was burning up with a fever, had been too quiet for his liking for too long now. He couldn’t lose her too, not now.

His whole family looked haggard and ragged, but they kept going out of stubbornness, driven forward by some foolish illusion he had planted into their minds that they would be getting somewhere. There was no strength left in any of them and it would only take a couple of walkers to end them all. Finally done and over with. Even Daryl refrained from slipping into the woods trying to find water or food. He stayed close, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his crossbow, and his eyes were shimmering with an almost frenzied heat. He would keep pushing until there was nothing left. Rick felt a sudden wave of deep gratefulness that this man was his brother, which was overrun moments later by all-consuming guilt. He had done that to all of them, to every one of his family. He had turned them into the true walking dead.

The sun had beaten down on them mercilessly for days, so he was sure to suffer a heatstroke and imagining a solid wall of thick wooden poles flashing through the trees around them.

“Is that … is that a wall?” Michonne walked up to him, clutching the strap of her sword. Her lips were a mess of broken skin and crusted blood.

“Looks like it,” beamed Abraham’s voice from behind.

Carol came to a stop on his other side. “Do you think, we should …?”

Judith whimpered in his arms. Hell, if he knew. But what choice did they have? They would die, if they stayed out here any longer. But everyone still remembered Terminus. The safety that place had promised and the horror it had entailed. They had lost Tyreese there, trying to get out and away.

“Wait here. I’ll have a closer look.” Daryl already walked past them, crossbow in hand and ducking into his hunter’s pace.

“Ok, over there,” ushered Rick his family into the trees and behind some bushes for cover. He passed Judith over to Carl and drew his colt. Behind him, he heard several more weapons being drawn and readied. He didn’t like it that Daryl put himself into so much risk again. But now wasn’t the time to argue. He would later give Daryl his piece of mind, because he really shouldn’t be so reckless. Everybody could have gone to check these walls out, hell, he himself should have gone. But Daryl always acted as if his life wasn’t worth anything. The stubborn bastard.

Tara crawled over to him. “What do you think?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Could be something good. Could be worse than Terminus.”

“Someone should have gone with him,” said Michonne close to his ear.

“Yeah,” Tara piped up, “he’s already taking too damn long.”

“Shush!” Carol hissed. “He knows what he’s doing.”

They fell into silence after that. Rick was more than two times halfway out of the underwood to follow Daryl and make sure he was alright. It didn’t sit right with him to crouch in some bushes and wait out. He trusted Daryl, but he didn’t trust anybody that was living behind these walls. And these people had no reason to trust any of his family, especially not when they all looked like wild savages ready to bowl down anything crawling their way. 

Finally, someone came closer. Only one person, which was a good sign. Unhurried steps crunched closer, uncovered and unworried. He shot out of the underwood, colt at the ready and pointing it straight to Daryl’s head. Rick sighed relieved and immediately dropped his weapon. Daryl was still in one piece. A dead opossum dangled from his left hand.

“Really? You had time for _this_?” scoffed Rosita at the sight of it. “We’ve been worrying our asses off here!”

“Run into me.”

“What is it like? Did you see something?” Rick demanded to know, not sparing the dead animal a second glance. Daryl was an opportunist and they all would be dead a long time ago if it wasn’t for him and his hunting skills. You never knew when there would be the next opportunity for a meal. If there was an opportunity.

“’s some sort of community. Big one, with a fuckin’ mansion in the middle. Wall is guarded, but not good. Guy there nearly had a stroke as he spotted me standin’ only ten feet away. Said we could come in, get some food, but we had to talk to his boss first.” He gave Rick a meaningful look. “Don’t seem to have no firearms.”

Huh. That was strange. A community was practically defenseless without any guns to kill or keep walkers from running down the walls. They always found a way in, if there was enough noise to draw them in to begin with. 

“You think it’s safe?”, Rick asked. He felt his whole family tense at the question. They all trusted Daryl’s intuition. If he didn’t deem it safe, they wouldn’t go. Rick still didn’t understand why Daryl still didn’t get that his family trusted him blindly. That he didn’t need to prove his worth.

Daryl bit his bottom lip. “Yeah. Think they’re farmers. Heard a goddamn cow.”

Michonne broke into a grin. “Oh God, steaks!”

“Burgers!” groaned Glenn.

“Grilled potatoes with garlic butter!” sighed Beth and everyone turned around to her. “What? You started talking about BBQs!” 

“Yes, about meat, Beth. Raw, juicy _meat_ ”, jabbed Michonne back, but everybody was grinning now.

“Oh man, stop it, I can already smell spareribs with bourbon marinade”, groaned Abraham and everyone joined into his suffering moan.

“Ok, so we’re going”, grinned Rick. “But be ready and be alert. This still might be a trap.”

Instantly, they sobered up and followed Daryl out of the woods. The short walk over to the wall pulled at his nerves. Every sense was on alert and he was ready to bounce and shoot at everything that might spring in their way, but nothing happened. At Terminus, the real shitshow began after they entered, so Rick tried to keep an eye out for anything, just the tiniest bit that gave him the wrong feeling. But so far, nothing stood out. 

They neared a big and massive looking iron gate, as a shout rang out to them: “Stop right there! Don’t come closer!”

Rick glanced up at the gatepost. A man stood there, glancing down on them. “Is that a spear in his hand?” he whispered to Daryl.

“Yeah. Was asleep on it when I came, the idiot.”

Rick straightened and held up his hands. “We don’t want to harm you. We come in dire need of water and something to eat.”

“Who are you?”

“Rick Grimes. You?”

A short pause, then: “Kal.” Before Rick could ask more, Kal’s head disappeared and he shouted something behind the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw Daryl grip the crossbow tighter. He readied his own weapon, when the left leave of the great gate was pushed open and five figures emerged. Kal’s head reappeared over the wall.

The people coming out walked cautiously closer. They held spears and axes in their hands, except for the guy walking in front. Although he was on the smaller side for a man, he carried himself with no arms safe for an easy confidence bordering on sheer cockiness, while the others outright reeked of dread. This one was the most dangerous out of the five.

“Easy”, said the guy. He wore a ridiculous trench coat, had long, brown hair and a full beard. He honest to God looked like Jesus, especially now that he raised his hands in a placating manner. “We are more than happy to help you out, but we can’t just let anybody into our community, specifically not a group as big and as well-armed as yours. I’m sure you understand.”

“Are you the leader?” Rick shouted. Something about that guy made his skin prickle. There was more to the man than met the eye.

“No. My name is Paul Rovia, but my friends use to a call me Jesus”, he said with a wide smile, his arms evenly wide spread. Beside Rick, Daryl snorted.

“Rick Grimes. Look, we really don’t want to bother you, but we need water, something to eat and maybe a bed for the night. That’s all we gonna ask of you.”

“Look, Rick”, Jesus said, “I really want to believe you, but that decision isn’t up to me. You can come inside, when you give up your weapons upon entry. Then I’ll bring you to Gregory. He’ll decide if you can stay or if you have to leave. Sorry, but that’s all I’m able to offer.”

“At least they’re not all stupid in there”, Daryl mumbled. Rick shot him a quick glance, then looked over his shoulder at the rest. Everyone looked horrible and ready to collapse on the spot. The bright sun didn’t help in the slightest. Beth looked already too pale around her nose and Rosita had to lean heavily into Abraham so she wouldn’t stagger.

“Dad”, Carl spoke up quietly, “Judith is hot all over. We need to get in there.” 

He nodded. Turning around to Jesus, he asked: “You have a doctor?”

Jesus cocked his head to the side, eying them. “We do. Have you been bitten?”

“No, my daughter, she’s having a bad fever. She is only a baby. Please, we need help!”

Jesus nodded. “If Gregory agrees to accommodate you, I’ll show you to our doctor. Come on! Leave your weapons with Dante, when you enter.” He pointed to a man on his right site. After a moment’s hesitation, Rick and his group followed, still weary what would await them inside. Leaving their weapons with Dante didn’t sit right with Rick and he hoped he didn’t miscalculate. This Jesus-guy seemed reasonable enough, though, that he took the chance. Disarming took some time. Every one of them had at least one gun and one knife, if not more. Daryl was especially reluctant to leave his crossbow behind; so were Rosita and Sasha with their sniper rifles. Rick could read it easily in the faces of the guardsmen surrounding Jesus that their amount of weapons was quite impressive for them. Daryl must have been right about them not having any or at least not much firearms.

They followed Jesus deeper into the community and even if he tried not to, he could only stare. There were fresh looking fields with tomatoes and lettuce, something that looked like potatoes and beans. Sheds with tools, little barns and stables were strewn over the site, housing some pigs, chickens and goats, and the cow Daryl had heard from the outside. Everything was greener than on the other side of the wall, which meant they had a steady water supply here. A clonking from the far end of the enclosed grounds made him squint against the blasting sun. A forge. They had a forge with a blacksmith, which explained the spears they had seen. FEMA trailers were scattered around an old-fashioned three-story brick house with white shutters. People watched them wearily as they walked by; Daryl had been also right about them, they were farmers. Not one of them held a weapon or looked ready to defend themselves if Rick and his group would suddenly decide to attack, unarmed or not.

This wasn’t like Terminus. Rick just didn’t know if this was better or worse. The people here weren’t fighters. Although they did survive the apocalypse, they had no idea what really fighting for their lives meant.

“This looks like the land of milk and honey”, Abraham said quietly.

“Yeah, with clueless peasants all around. How did they _survive_?” whispered Sasha, her voice dripping incredulity.

Rick scanned the area, but he found nothing amiss or suspicious. Well, the house was big enough to hide certain surprises, but taking into account how many people were mingling about and how few trailers were set up, he guessed that the house was simply that – a living space. Jesus pushed the door open and they stepped into the strangest entry hall Rick had ever been in. Everything was, well, not old, but definitely from another century. The furniture was baroque, the colors and fabrics colorful and of an exquisite quality. Painted pictures in old wooden frames, some even golden, hung on the walls as though they just wanted to visit a museum about American History. There even hung a fucking _chandelier_ from the ceiling. 

“What is this place?” he heard himself ask. The hall was almost dark compared to the bright outside and the air was noticeably cooler, which was a blessing. He heard the others sigh in relief upon entering as well. Eugene collapsed unceremoniously onto one of the flimsy looking chairs.

“This is Barrington House. It used to be a museum”, Jesus answered, a smug smile barley suppressed on his face. “Fancy, isn’t it?”

“Definitely something different”, said Sasha turning around herself slowly.

“Ah, you must be the guests!” a voice boomed from the stairs leading to the upper level. Every eye in the room turned to him. Rick thought, he heard Jesus sigh, before the man stepped forward.

“Gregory, I was just about to get you. This is Rick Grimes and his group. They’ve come here to seek water, food and shelter. They have a baby that needs to see a doctor.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” An older man came down the stairs, eyeing them with open suspicion and a hint of disgust. Compared to him, all of Rick’s family members looked like the poorest beggars. Their clothes were all dirty and stained with a sickening mix of sweat, blood and dirt, the original colors bleached by the sun into something indefinable. What skin wasn’t covered by some piece of textile was evenly dirty and sunburnt. Their hair was a wild, tangled mess and at least he and Abraham had gotten unkempt full beards on top of that. The man before them wore a clean suit without a tie and his hair although thinning was neatly trimmed and clean. To him, they must look like savages out of an old western. And Daryl still carried that dang opossum by its tail around.

“My name is Gregory and I’m in charge of Hilltop. That’s what we call this place”, the man said in a patronizing tone as though the sun had cooked their brains to mush and they were back to the mental state of five-year-olds again. Rick was already riled up from that voice alone and he sure as hell wasn’t the only one. Abraham’s knuckles cracked behind him and Michonne shifted her stance from relaxed to defensive. Two of the men that had accompanied Jesus by the gate, were following this Gregory down the stairs and looked grimly at them. They probably got here ahead of them while they were busy giving their arms up.

“You see, we could give you, what you are asking for; water, something to eat, a bed for the night. Maybe even Carson can get a look at your baby. But you see, that won’t probably do it. If the baby is sick, you need to stay for a while for it to get better. And then we would have you around for longer than we can afford.”

Rick ground his teeth. He didn’t like the sly undertone of this voice. The man was right, although Rick hated to admit it; they needed to regain their strength. One day wouldn’t do anything, they needed to recover, catch up on sleep and food and get back into shape. It could take weeks for them to get there. And Judith … they didn’t even know what was wrong with her and how long she might need to get better. She needed rest, a stable schedule for eating and sleeping, some _normality_. This community had no reasons to just give their resources away to strangers, when their own people probably needed their goods more. In this world, nothing was done out of goodwill or charity anymore. And this Gregory already had his price for his hospitality in mind. By God, they barely had anything, just themselves. He couldn’t ask more from his people.

“What do you want?” Rick demanded to know.

Gregory smiled, but it didn’t reach is watery eyes. “Oh, it’s not about what I want, it’s about what you can give that could be useful for Hilltop. I heard you had a lot of weapons. Give it to us and you can stay for a couple of days.”

“No!”

“Hell no!”

“Rick, don’t!”

Rick didn’t need to hear the protest of his people to know that this was a flimsy deal. A couple of days was nothing when they would have to walk away from here finally, practically unarmed.

“Well, then what else do you have to offer?” Gregory asked smugly. His bushy eyebrows rose on his forehead and his pale eyes almost fell out of their sockets as he tried to look genuinely interested.

“Ya cocky little asshole!” Daryl snapped, before Rick could answer. “There’s a child sufferin’ an’ all ya askin’ is what ya could get out o’ it?”

Rick hastily put a hand up on Daryl’s chest as he saw how Gregory’s eyes went wide and he stumbled backwards a few steps. His bodyguards raised their spears threateningly. 

Fuck, they needed that slimy bastard. They needed Hilltop’s help. “Daryl, calm down. I got that.”

Daryl snorted, but he stepped off, swinging the opossum in a dismissive half-circle towards Gregory and his bodyguards.

“Gregory”, interfered Jesus, before the other man could utter a loud protest he sure was about to make, if Rick interpreted the enraged huffing right. “These people need our help. Hilltop isn’t a place, where we benefit from the suffering of others. We build this to help people, not to rip them off.”

Gregory deflated a little. “You’re right, Jesus. We are better than that. Still, we can’t just give the things away we so hard have worked for. We are traders, so there will be a deal we both can benefit from. I’ll ask you again, Nick, what can you offer us in return?”

Rick shared a confused look with Jesus, who just shook his head slightly. “Since you were so interested in our weapons, I take it you have none.”

Gregory confirmed that with an icy silence.

“Look, we survived out there for a long time. If you help us, we’ll get you weapons.”

“How?”

“We’ll go on runs. We did that before. We’ll salvage; there are always places that still hold weapons.”

“If we found the right equipment, I could even make ammunition”, Eugene suddenly threw in. Not quite believing his own ears, Rick turned around to him. He wasn’t the only one. Rosita pushed him hard in the chest, so that he almost fell off his chair, as she shouted: “And that just crossed your mind now? Why didn’t you tell us sooner that you could do that?”

Eugene shrugged. “It never came up. We were never in the need of self-made ammunition. And besides, you never asked.”

Well, that much was true. Rick still tended to underestimate Eugene due to his behavior, but maybe he should have a serious talk with him in the near future, see what else he was capable of doing. Rick didn’t like the glee in Gregory’s eyes when he turned around again. “Well, that is just a maybe. But we could get you guns.”

“You would need to teach them how to shoot as well”, Jesus added quietly. 

Gregory snorted. “Come on, every fool knows how to shoot.”

“Oh yeah?” Sasha stepped forward. She had a burning gaze in her eyes that let Gregory flinch. “So you know the difference between an AK-47 and a HK 416? How to safely clean a gun and put it back together? How to handle the recoil and how to shoot a moving target clean between the eyes? How not to accidently shoot at your own people, because you don’t know how to put the safety on? You do? Good! Because you will teach your people then!”

Silence fell over the entry hall. Finally, Gregory cleared his throat. “Fine. You’ll bring us weapons – firearms! Not knives or some other rubbish! – and you’ll teach the people, who want to”, here he spared a meaningful glance at Jesus, “how to use these guns. In exchange, we’ll accommodate you. You have two weeks!”

“A month at least. Water, food and a place to sleep for everyone. And the doctor’s looking over Judith”, Rick barged in. He had the feeling that he needed to be absolutely clear with this guy or his words would be twisted in his mouth later.

Gregory growled. “A month, then we’ll see. But you have to honor our tradition for sealing such a deal.” A wicked gleam was back in his eyes. Rick despised the man every second he had to deal with him even more.

“And what would that be?” he barked.

“Gregory, please”, tried Jesus to interfere, but Gregory puffed up his chest again. Whatever it was, Rick was sure they wouldn’t like it. Every minute they wasted discussing with this arrogant prick was a minute too much. They needed to rest, they needed to drink and Judith needed to see that doctor _now_.

“A marriage!”

“A _what_?!”

“To seal the deal and to show our people that you are here with only the best intentions, that you won’t hurt them and turn on them and to remind you of your part of the agreement and its fulfillment. We ask this of every group bigger than three people, who want to stay longer than two weeks. Someone of our community as a representative for our part of the deal united with someone from your group. That will show everyone our goodwill and make sure you won’t run off after getting what you need. It’s two weeks or the marriage, your choice.”

“What? I’m not marrying someone of my family off like a piece of bargain-buy!” spat Rick. The man had to be kidding. No way was he asking that of anyone! They didn’t even know the other community. In the end, they were just trying to split them apart to have a walk-over.

“Gregory, you can’t ask that of our people. They would understand the situation even without that stupid tradition”, tried Jesus to reason and Rick liked the guy a little bit better for a moment.

“Well, then the deal will fall through. These are the rules you all agreed upon! Unless, you maybe do know someone willing to step up for these fine people?” Gregory leered at Jesus expectantly with raised eyebrows and a fake smile on his lips. There was a history to that exchange, that was sure, but Rick didn’t bother to elaborate. He had to think about some solution that the old man would accept, which didn’t end with one of them married to someone unknown of this strange community.

“Fine, I’ll volunteer as representative”, Jesus said with calm, although Rick could see his nostrils flaring. Jesus looked up at them, his blue-green eyes meeting Rick’s head on. “I know I can’t do anything to prove that, but I won’t be disrespectful in any way. This is simply a symbolic union and it doesn’t mean anything beyond that.”

Rick nodded, thankful. Despite the man’s nickname, or maybe even because of it, he seemed like one you could trust.

“Well then, choose your wife, Jesus!”, Gregory said with a snicker. Rick desperately wanted to punch him in the face. 

“No, the ladies ain’t up for it!”, Daryl snapped at the same time as Abraham shouted: “This is fucking ridiculous, Rick!”

Rick turned around and pulled his people in a tight circle around him. “I don’t think two weeks will be enough, honestly. We’re too exhausted. If we go out too soon, it will just backfire and we’re back at square one. The summer has just started.”

“I’m with you”, said Michonne. “We have to think of Judith as well.”

“So we’re not trying our luck elsewhere?”, asked Sasha. She looked skeptical into the round.

“Where else shall we go? How far, until we find water and food? This is too much for Judith, too much for any of us,” argued Maggie softly. “We need this place.”

Sasha considered her words for a moment, then she nodded. “I know. Just making sure.” 

“Ok, then it seems like we have to make this deal with that dumb marriage”, breathed Rick. “I hate the idea, but we need to agree on this, alright? I’m with Daryl, none of the women. We don’t know what they’re up to.”

“So one of us has to marry fucking Jesus?”, Abraham asked irritated. Rick eyed him, but before he could answer, Daryl spoke up: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“No, Daryl –“

“You don’t –“

“It’s just a fuckin’ symbol!”, he hissed. “Glenn’s with Maggie, Abe’s with Rosita, Rick’s with Michonne.” Rick opened his mouth at that to protest, but Daryl overrode him. “That leaves me an’ Eugene. We can’t give them Eugene, ‘cause nobody fuckin‘ knows, what them people are up to and we need him safe for the ammunition or the thousand other things he’ll spontaneously come up with. So that leaves me.”

Their group was silent. Put this way, it was only logical, but Rick still knew that Daryl was again sacrificing himself for their family. They all knew. He should step up and do it himself, but Daryl just glared at him. Carol was the first one to break the silence. She pulled Daryl into a fierce hug. They all joined in, patting Daryl on the back and Rick could already feel Daryl squirming his way out of it. After all this time, he still felt uncomfortable with too much closeness at one time.

“You finished over there?”, broke Gregory’s oily voice their little circle. 

They shared a last glance and Rick nodded towards Daryl. “You sure?”

Daryl snorted and turned around. “Whatever. Ya have to make do with me.” He gave Jesus a challenging stare, daring him to protest loudly against being married – albeit only as a token gesture – to someone that reeked of hostility carrying a dead animal around a fancy house.

Gregory clapped his hands together in fake joy as he too turned to Jesus. “Oh, even better for you, Jesus! Aren’t you cheering for the other team anyway? This is your lucky day then!”

Daryl looked ready to sink his fist into Gregory at that comment and even Jesus looked less calm. Rick had no idea what Daryl’s opinion on same-sex couples was, but giving that he got along with Tara pretty well without once questioning her when she dropped not so subtle comments on the topic, he didn’t think that would be the problem. Gregory himself was another story.

Before Rick could say anything to that matter, Carol called loudly: “Rick!”, followed by a thump. He whirled around. Beth was lying unconsciously on the floor, her face a pale white and her blonde hair plastered to her forehead.

“Are you done now?”, shouted Maggie at Gregory, her eyes burning with fury. Jesus rushed forward, bending over Beth and checking her pulse. 

“Ed, clear the library upstairs and help them get settled there. Marco, get Mary, Bertie and Anton in here with water and food, I don’t care that it’s past lunch!”, he ordered the two men behind Gregory, who did what they were told without any fuss.

“Jesus, you can’t –“, started Gregory, but Jesus overrode him.

“They agreed to it, Gregory, and they need help now, not after another couple of hours. Announce the ritual, I don’t care, but they need us now!”

Gregory gaped, but then brusquely pushed past them and out of the house. Abraham had already gathered Beth up in his arms, following Ed up the stairs to their room. The others followed, but Rick stayed behind with Carl, Judith and Daryl. “Where is that doctor of yours?” He sounded harsher than intended, but he was done with that bullshit.

Jesus didn’t seem to mind being barked at. “I’ll get him. Could you help the others carry the stuff up into the room?” As on hue, Marco returned with three people carrying blankets, water containers and containers of food.

“Of course!” He spared a glance at Daryl, who stoically looked anywhere but him or in fact anybody. Finally, their family was safe for the time being, but he still wondered, what it would cost them. It would Daryl cost the most of it, he was sure. Daryl hid behind a gruff exterior, but he had a heart of gold and Rick wouldn’t let anything hurt him. Not for food or shelter.


	2. The Token

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part I, Paul's POV  
> Paul makes a new friend and keeps an old one.  
> Gregory still can't remember names.

Feel the vibe, feel the terror, feel the pain  
It's driving me insane  
I can't fake  
For god’s sake  
Why am I driving in the wrong lane  
Trouble is my middle name  
But in the end I'm not too bad  
Can someone tell me if it's wrong to be so mad  
About you

Hooverphonic, Mad about you

 

The whole day Paul was already running around their settlement, checking in on people, seeing how it went with the crops, if the trailers needing repairs had been already dealt with and if there was anything needed within the kitchens. Then his day had turned from its busy everyday routine into a hectic blur caused by the largest group to ever have knocked at their gates asking for help.

One look and Paul had known that this group was dangerous. They looked wild and fierce, but who wouldn’t after days – weeks? Months? – out there in this strange new world. No, what had him tripped off had been the glint in their eyes. Determined to fight till death for anyone in their group. This was a group with bonds deeper than blood alone could bind them together; they had risked their lives already for each other and nothing would or could drive a wedge between them. 

Part of him felt fearful at their sight. Another part admired the strength that they emitted even at their lowest. Their leader, this Rick, was a story of his own. If Gregory only had the willpower of this man’s little toe, the whole community of Hilltop would look at him with different eyes. They wouldn’t just listen to his ramblings and move along with the seasons. They would follow, they would fight and not hide behind walls and pretend the dead had not risen again and walked the surface of the earth.

Paul sighed deeply. What if’s were always tiresome. He looked around to see his people were calling it an early end today, their voices buzzing anxiously. Every now and then, their glances fitted over to him. Some came by and squeezed his arm or shoulder in passing, smiling encouraging at him. Gregory had announced the big celebration of the “wedding” as soon as Rick’s group was settled in the cleared library. Almost everyone had seen the group walking in and they still were skeptical and frightened at the prospect of housing such people, but the announcement that their Jesus would vouch for them and had agreed to the marriage ritual himself seemed to have settled most of their doubts about their safety. Sometimes Paul wanted to shake them until their eyes opened to the harsh reality outside their cozy little walls.

Now, they were looking forward to an unexpected party, seeing their scout getting married off to one of the scandalizing looking new people. Paul wondered if they still would so readily accept the whole situation if they knew _who_ it was that would step up to Paul later. Hell, if Paul could have truly chosen for himself, he wouldn’t have picked _him_. If he really could have chosen – consequences and political tactics aside, only going after his personal taste – Paul would have gone for Rick, because he always had a weak spot for the slightly scruffy-looking western hero. And Rick was ticking off all the right boxes: sunburnt skin of strong forearms, an angular face, salt and peppered hair and beard and the confident, slightly bowlegged swagger of a man, who knew about his self and his abilities. But the other one (and Paul hadn’t gotten his _name_ earlier)? With the hair obscuring most of his face and the dead animal he carried around like some trophy to show off, he would be the gunslinger’s shaggy dog at best and the unpredictable beggar at the worst. Both were not really appealing in Paul’s eyes.

But if this was the prize he needed to pay in order to keep this community safe, so be it. He sighed again and stepped inside his trailer, to take a quick shower and change into something a little bit cleaner and to look a little more like someone who got married for political reasons. He doubted that his _betrothed_ would make the same effort, but they weren’t going to _kiss_ or some bullshit, so it didn’t really matter.

When Paul emerged from his trailer, stuffing the little crumbled pack of cigarettes into one of his pockets, the great place in front of Barrington House had already been cleared and now there was a mishmash of chairs, stools and blankets strewn all over the lawn, facing the stairs of the house. Someone had put up candles and lanterns and decorated the stairs with huge sunflowers and garlands of daisies. It looked really nice and if this wouldn’t have been a political-motivated move, Paul really could have enjoyed this. People already chattered animatedly, but Paul suspected it was more because of the coming feast and not for the celebration itself.

He strode over to the stairs, where already Rick and his group had gathered, looking so out of place it could have been funny, if it weren’t actually quite disruptive. They still looked shattered and ready to fall asleep on the spot despite having done nothing but eating and sleeping all afternoon, but Paul knew that feeling too well himself. The bone-deep exhaustion that could only be held at bay by the adrenalin pumping through your veins. His soon-to-be husband was eating at his thumb while listening to the woman with grey hair. The others stood in a loose circle around them and that image alone was all Paul needed to confirm his earlier assumption that no one could mess with this group without getting into serious trouble.

Rick peeled himself away as soon as he spotted Paul. “Jesus,” he greeted. “How’s this gonna work?”

Before Paul could answer, the gray-haired woman nudged his soon-to-be husband into the side, which earned her a dark glare. But she only raised her eyebrows as if to say “Now do as you’re told” and Paul watched a bit perplexed as the gloomy looking man did indeed that. He came over and extended a hand (cleaner, Paul noted, and the dead rat or whatever it was also thankfully absent). “Daryl Dixon.”

Paul raised his eyebrows, but took the hand and shook it. It was warm and heavily calloused. “Paul Rovia. But you can –“

“Ain’t callin’ ya Jesus.”

Rude, Paul thought, but he plastered one of his Jesus-smiles on. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, Daryl.” That earned him a huff and the hand he was still holding was practically ripped from his grip. Well, this could only get more interesting.

Rick put his hand on the man’s – Daryl’s – shoulder to calm him down and whispered something into his ear that had Daryl only glaring more with a shake of his head and a quiet “Nah”. Paul could feel the tension prickle in the air, both from the group in front of him and from the people of Hilltop at his back. He really needed to hold it together, although everything in him already itched to poke that man again, make him brittle and hiss just to see how far he would let Paul go before he snapped. Sometimes Paul wondered if he was born with a death wish, but challenges like this had always excited him. How far could he push certain boundaries until the world would come crashing on top of him.

Thankfully, Gregory stepped out of the house then, flanked by Ed and Marco again. Seriously, it was a bit overdone with this whole bodyguard demeanor, especially since Rick and his group had agreed to that stupid ritual and therefore to commit themselves to Hilltop. But Gregory had always been a bit of a drama queen really.

“People of Hilltop! Today, we are here to welcome these fine people into our community. They came to us in their hour of need and of course we were willing to help them.”

Paul heard a muttered “Sonafabitch” from somewhere behind him, where he knew Daryl stood. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Oh, this was really promising to get interesting.

“Richard here volunteered to help us find guns, so we can make this community even better and safer. In exchange, they can stay for one month and enjoy all the comforts we can offer. You all know the rules that are attached to such a long-term business relationship. Jesus here offered to step up as the representative of Hilltop and I think you all agree that we couldn’t find someone better.” Gregory beamed into the attentive faces of the crowd, clearly enjoying his moment of showing Paul exactly were his place was. “As a representative of Richard’s –“

“People of Hilltop,” interrupted Rick Gregory’s babbling and Paul had never been more intrigued by a voice than right now. His carried easily over the crowd without shouting, and his tone was so different from their own leader’s that Paul felt a bit sorry for Gregory and his obvious lack of leadership skills. “My name is Rick Grimes and I would like to thank you in the name of my family for your hospitality. I can assure you that we all will be an asset to this community and we will find you the weapons you need in order to protect what is yours. We will train you and we will help you to set up an effective defense structure. We have seen what can become of some people out there. We have met people that wanted to kill us, just for our knives or just for the fun of it. You have something precious here worth protecting and if we can do something to help keeping it that way, we will. You have my word as their leader.”

Rick made a pause and heavy silence followed his words. Paul could see the fearful glances of some people at the mention of others coming and taking the life they had built up here away from them. But others looked determined and proud, nodding along Rick’s words.

“Our representative of this deal is my brother, Daryl.” A few whispers followed that announcement, because although this rule had been established right from the beginning, they had only pulled it through two times in total. And each time had been a man married to a woman. The first had been a boy not older than nineteen, leading his three siblings out of the wood and towards Hilltop even before Paul had been part of them. He had married a young girl, but him and all his siblings had died in the following fall from pneumonia. They had just been too weak. The second marriage had been between a woman named Tess from the other community Paul had then just found out about; a pretty large one called Oceanside, and Stuart, the blacksmith’s cousin. They both lived at Oceanside now and so far the union between the two communities had played out pretty good. They exchanged goods – fish for vegetables – once a month. 

They never had the discussion, if the marriages had to be limited to couples of opposite genders or not. No one ever thought about that. So the declaration now, of their Jesus being married to that dangerous looking man they didn’t know, was quite a bombshell.

“Wonderful!”, said Gregory, pushing Rick to the side to step up in front of his people again. “Now, would you come here, so we can see you exchange the symbol of your marriage?”

“What?”, hissed Daryl immediately as Paul stepped forward.

“It’s just an exchange of tokens. Something that represents you or the group is given to me and you get something back from me,” whispered Paul back irritated. God, had this man to take everything as a personal attack?

“Ya never said a damn word ‘bout it!” Daryl shot him a heated glare, before he turned around to seemingly step into the house again. Was he _bailing_ now?!

Rick put a hand at Daryl’s chest and looked him sternly in the eye. “You’re not going inside to get him that opossum, Daryl.”

“Ain’t have anythin’ else!”

Rick just raised his eyebrows, until Daryl huffed and turned around, yanking something from the back pocket of his torn trousers. It was a faded red rag, frayed at the seams and stained with something dark. Daryl balled it up in his fist and thrust it towards Paul’s chest. “Ya better keep an eye on that, sunshine.”

Gregory looked a little lost at the brusque exchange going on, because normally he would revel in the whole ceremony and the light that it shone upon his head as the benefactor of Hilltop. But Paul had enough. He did this for the people here, not for Gregory’s happiness and the old man had used up his time to humiliate him in front of others for today.

Paul took the filthy rag and reached into his own pocket for the pack of smokes he had stuffed in there earlier. He pushed the pack into Daryl’s palm, smiling sweetly, and Daryl already bristled at that alone. “Oh, I will. Think of me, when you smoke these, sweetheart.” He had no idea, if Daryl was a smoker to start with, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t be that wrong given the obvious appearance and behavior of a typical redneck. He had encountered enough hicks in his old life to know what he had to look for.

Daryl didn’t disappoint. He narrowed his barely visible eyes and bit the inside of his lip, but the balled fists and the tense shoulders spoke volumes of his urge to lunge at Paul. He just smiled wider.

“Well, thank you, Jesus, that was … that’s … well, in capacity as leader of Hilltop I declare you married alliances of the negotiated deal to find us suitable firearms and to train our people the proper handling. In exchange, you are welcome to life here like our own people for at least a month. If you wish to leave afterwards, you are free to do so. If you want to stay longer, we re-negotiate.”

Rick opened his mouth at that in protest, but Gregory threw his arms in the air, purposefully oblivious. “But now, we celebrate!”

+++

The boom of laughter and animated chatter washed over Paul, as he wove through his people, trying to put the food that was pushed into his hands actually into his mouth. It was a bit complicated with all his people coming to him, either with worried words seeking reassurance or with thanks and the occasional wink, congratulating him to his marriage. Paul smiled and shook hands, soothing the doubts and jabbing back with jokes. The impromptu feast was amazing; even more candles and torches lit up the night that had fallen in the meantime. There was a large pot of vegetable stew cooking over a giant bonfire and one of their pigs roasted beside it. Tables bend under the load of fresh bread, pickled onions and cucumbers, boiled eggs, salsas and pesto sauces and seemingly a thousand other things. He needed to thank Mary and her cooks for everything they had done so spontaneously, because looking in the faces of his people, he saw real smiles and pure bliss, when they dug their teeth into the juicy meat. He couldn’t remember the last time they had butchered one of their animals and had eaten fresh meat.

He finally found a quiet place at the stairs of a trailer to eat his meal. It was just as delicious as it smelled. He ate in silence, watching Rick’s people mingle with first only a few of Hilltop’s, then more and more. He suspected the self-made beer from Peter and his brother Anton helped with that. Rick’s group slowly loosened up as well, their rigid stances melting into more relaxed postures and as they laughed Paul could see the humans behind their mask of hardened survivors.

“Hey.”

He looked up, a bit startled that he had been so engrossed in his musings. The girl with the short brown hair from Rick’s group stood by him, plate in her hands. “Can I join you?”

“Sure!” He scooted over to make room for her on the steps.

“I’m Maggie. Thank you for this.”

He smiled at her. “No problem. If we don’t help each other, we could just dig our graves then.”

She hummed, shoveling food into her mouth. “Beth is my sister,” she said, nodding over to a lovely blonde girl, who laughed tears at something the boy with the long hair and the sheriff’s hat had said. It was the same girl that had collapsed in the entry-way. She looked better now.

“Who is that next to her?”, he asked curiously.

“Carl. Rick’s son.”

Of course, the resemblance was almost unmistakable. The same stubborn lines around his mouth, the same piercing eyes.

“The woman with the short gray hair?”, he asked next.

“That’s Carol,” mumbled Maggie between two bites of food.

“What is she for Daryl?” He had wondered ever since that nudge she gave him to introduce himself properly to Paul, just like a mother would demand of a son to show good manners. But her eyes had been anything but motherly. He could feel Maggie’s eyes on him, calculating and measuring. He turned his head to meet her green eyes head on.

“Carol is probably the best friend Daryl has. I don’t know what they are exactly to each other, but mess with Daryl and you’ll have Carol all over your face. Don’t let him fool you by his harsh outside. Daryl has done and sacrificed more for this group than anybody else. He had looked for Carol’s missing daughter for days on end. Nearly got himself killed in the process. So don’t play tricks on him. He’ll lash out nastily, but Carol’s wrath will come silent and gruesome.”

Paul stared at her. She meant every word she just said. Finally, he asked the most obvious question: “Did he find her?”

“No. Biter’s got her first.”

Fuck. He fell silent, not knowing what to say. He didn’t feel sorry for someone he didn’t know and just saying it to say something wasn’t his style. But Maggie didn’t seem to judge him and for that he was thankful. Everyone had their own stories of loss and despair to deal with. Everyone knew how that felt.

“I can’t remember when I last saw this many people alive. Doesn’t it get too overwhelming at some point? How do you handle that?”, Maggie suddenly asked quietly. She had put down her plate and simply stared ahead at the crowd. The soft glow of the many fires danced across her features. There was something beautiful underneath that strong face. Paul had the feeling that he and Maggie would get along quite well. She was a leader, just like Rick, although more subtle and probably more diplomatic, a bit like himself. 

Paul laughed softly. “I grew up with a lot of people around. I’m used to it.”

“Big family?”, she asked with a gentle smile.

Paul hesitated for a second. He barley ever told anybody something personal. With Maggie, though, sitting at his side, he somehow felt safe to share. He couldn’t explain why, but he had the feeling that Maggie was a good soul. Someone to trust, although Paul very seldom had made that decision upon meeting someone new. But so far, his gut had never erred. “Uhm, group home.”

Her eyes remained kind and understanding, no judgement visible. 

“When I got first here, I wasn’t really here. I was more away scouting than staying with these people. I still find it hard to be a part of it. I try, though, but I always found it hard getting close to anyone. Neighbors. Friends. Boyfriends.” He glanced at her, waiting for her reaction. Gregory had outed him in front of her whole group, but telling her that piece of himself in person, felt different. Maggie just smiled as though he just had admitted that he liked the color red for sentimental reasons.

“You should still try it sometimes. Even if it doesn’t last.” Her smile turned sad and Paul just didn’t want to know of whom she thought or how many she had buried along the road.

“Maggie!” They both looked up, as the young Asian man of Rick’s group came over to them.

“This is Glenn, my husband”, Maggie introduced them and Paul didn’t miss the glee in her eyes at that word. Paul grinned in return and shook Glenn’s hand, who looked torn between embarrassment and excitement. 

“Come on over, Tara and Abraham are having an eating contest,” he grinned and pulled his wife up on her feet. Maggie laughed and turned to Paul. “You wanna join, Jesus?”

“No thanks, I’m good here.”

Maggie nodded and took off with Glenn, yelling over her shoulder: “Don’t forget: try it sometimes!”

Paul chuckled as he watched them run over to their group. They all still stood more or less together, seemingly relaxed, but they still didn’t let each other out of sight. Which was probably the reason Glenn came over to collect Maggie. He watched their good-naturedly banter and cheering as the red-haired guy wolfed down some kind of burger-sandwich and a dark-haired woman trying to do the same; Abraham and Tara. Then there was Carl next to Beth and a dark-skinned woman he didn’t yet knew the name of. Carol and another nameless woman with dreads picking their way through salads and dips. A man with an awful mullet and another nameless young woman with long brown hair shared a jug of beer. Rick was missing, but he probably was at his daughter’s side. Carson had taken one look at the baby and instantly treated her for dehydration and sunburn. She was stable now, but Rick still wouldn’t leave her side for long.

Paul thought that Daryl was missing, too, probably avoiding the crowd just like him. But then he spotted a dark figure sitting on one of the picnic tables a bit off the scene. A small point of orange glowed bright for a second, before it faded back to a humble amber. So, Daryl _did_ smoke. Paul felt the grin on his face before he could help it. Gotcha. Point for Rovia.

He remembered suddenly the ugly rag he had gotten earlier and pulled it from his pocket. The stains on the cloth were old and looked a lot like grease or motor oil. The fabric was soft to the touch, so Daryl probably had it already for a long time and cleaned it often instead of flinging it away and replacing it with something new. 

Paul stroked the material. _Ya better keep an eye on that, sunshine._ For whatever reason this rag was important for Daryl. He probably had carried it around since the beginning of the end. And now he had to hand it over to Paul.

_Ain’t have anythin’ else!_

Suddenly, it hit Paul like a sledgehammer. Daryl hadn’t been pissed that he had to hand something over to Paul as a symbol of their marriage. He had been pissed, because he thought he had nothing of value or significance to gift Paul with it. To make this _meaningful_.

And Paul had thrown a half empty package of stale cigarettes at the man that would be gone as soon as Daryl had smoked the last one. Paul felt like a dick.

“Hey Paul.”

He jerked out of his thoughts, cramming the rag together as though he wanted to hide that he had been staring at it. Clearing is throat, he looked up at Alex’ face. Oh, right. Alex.

“Hey,” he answered a bit too cheerful as Alex sat down beside him. Carefully he folded the stained red cloth to tug it back into his pocket.

“Ah, so that’s what he gave to you. I wondered. Looks pretty battered.”

Paul shrugged. “It could still come in handy.”

“Sure.”

They were silent for a while. 

“I got you some sweet bread. Bertie made it today, she knows you love it.”

“Look, Alex”, Paul said, ignoring the deliciously smelling bread for once. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It just … it happened so quickly and I had to make sure everything was settled for them –“

“Paul, you don’t really need to apologize to me, ok? Not for helping people.” Alex smiled warmly at him. “I get it. And to be honest, we both knew that this day would come. Maybe not you being married to a complete stranger, but one day, you would have moved on. I know you would. You have made it clear from the very start that you didn’t want anything serious. I got ahead of myself, I know that. Just please don’t act as if we wouldn’t know each other, ok? Please don’t do that to me.”

Paul cupped Alex’ face in his hands as his heart twisted with regret. He had known that what they had started together bore more meaning for Alex than for himself. Alex was a very good friend, probably his only one in Hilltop. But that was it. They had sex together whenever they felt like blowing off some steam, but for Paul it had never been more than that. Something intimate shared between friends, because he knew he could trust Alex with this. But for Alex it had turned into something more and Paul was the one not able to break it up out of fear to lose his only friend. He was such a pathetic asshole, really.

“I would never, Alex. You are important to me, no matter what. And I am sorry that it had to end like this. I’m sorry that I could never give you more than my friendship.”

Alex took one of his hands, kissing it. “I don’t regret a thing, Paul. And I’m glad that you are still my friend. You are a good person, never forget that. Although I won’t miss that you can snore like a sawmill, when you’re drunk!”

“Hey! That was one time!”, Paul laughed, finally stealing the sweet bread from Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the conversation between Maggie and Paul is quoted (hopefully right) from the TV series.


	3. The Buck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gets to know Daryl - at least a bit.

The days after the big party were a blur of normality again. Everyone took on their tasks and one by one, the members of Rick’s group joined various teams. Beth and Maggie could be seen tending to the vegetables, while Carol and Michonne (the woman with the dreads) helped out in the kitchens. Glenn, Abraham and Rick together with a group of Hilltop men repaired some parts of the walls that were getting too old. Sasha and Rosita joined Kal, Dante, Marco and Ed on their watches. Eugene, the man with the mullet, well, Paul wasn’t sure what he actually did, but he often sat at one of the picnic tables reading one of the books he had found in the library.

He had once asked Maggie about it; apparently he researched how to build solar panels. Paul deemed that rather fruitless, but the others didn’t try to argue Eugene out of his studies.

Tara and Carl helped Carson in the medical trailer, although they both sat around and entertained Judith more often than not.

And Daryl. Well, Daryl had gone out of the gates the moment he was physically able to walk a few miles again. He had snatched up this goddamn crossbow of his and had vanished into the woods. Gregory had instantly demanded Rick get him back, but Rick had just shrugged and said Daryl was probably hunting and securing their surroundings. 

It was something they all had in common, Paul noticed. There was a restlessness among Rick’s people, a constant skittishness as though biters would appear out of thin air and attack them all. They tried to hide it, but the urge to move and bring down a possible threat itched under all their skins. It made the others – especially Gregory – nervous as hell. But Daryl remained the only one absent for days. They all went out at one time or another, but they always were back before nightfall. Not Daryl.

Paul already would have guessed that he had run off, but he would never have left his family behind. Maybe he had been injured or attacked … But Rick was too composed for that possibility. He worried though, because Paul could see him and Michonne whispering insistently with one another every so often.

Paul prepared himself for his next run to shut his own thoughts down. They needed medical supplies and more materials for their walls. He would scout a few places, check some stores and be back in a couple of days. Being outside would be a blessing. Hilltop and the new nervous energy slowly became a bit overbearing for him as well.

“Jesus!” He turned around to see Martha coming his way, a stack of clothes in her hand. “Here, all washed and mended,” she laughed, handing everything over to him.

“Thank you, you really hadn’t, Martha.”

“You are there for us, getting us the supplies we need. We are here for you, getting your clothes clean again,” she said cheerfully with twinkling eyes. “I really tried to safe your token of marriage, but I’m afraid it’s a bit of a lost cause.”

Paul eyed the stack in his hands. A piece of faded red peered out of the more dull tones of his other clothes. He tugged it free carefully. The stains were still there, maybe a bit more faded. The seam still frayed despite Martha’s attempts to stich it back together.

“It’s alright, Martha, thanks again.” 

She gave him a radiant smile, before she turned around. Paul carried the load back into his trailer to stuff some spare clothes in his carry-on bag for the run. After a moment’s consideration, he added the red rag as well.

_“Open the gate!”_

The shout let Paul bolt from his trailer again. He ran up to the gate along with everyone else, who heard it. The gate opened agonizingly slow, but finally it revealed Daryl, dirtied and smeared with blood again, his crossbow hanging from his back and a dead buck slung over his shoulders. People around him stared a bit dumbfounded, before someone finally walked over to Daryl to relieve him from the burden and carry the carcass off to the kitchens. A murmur of voices followed the buck and even more eyes followed Daryl as he made his way over to Rick. Paul quickly followed.

“You seen anything?”, he heard Rick ask in time as he came to a halt beside them.

“Nah. Some walkers, a horse. Them walkers got it first, though. Sorry. I woulda brought it back otherwise.” Daryl glanced towards Paul.

“It’s ok. Glad you’re back.” Rick clasped Daryl’s shoulder briefly, before returning to the work at the walls. “Take a shower!”, he yelled without looking back. “Or Carol will make you!”

Daryl grumbled but didn’t say anything otherwise.

“You want to take the shower in my trailer? It’s probably less crowded than the house,” Paul offered, hoping Daryl would accept. Despite from their day of marriage they hadn’t spoken once and Paul had the feeling that they should at least pretend that they got along, for the sake of the people living here and trusting them. 

Daryl thankfully nodded, following him across the muddy lawn.

“Why did you leave so soon again? Just for hunting? Or were you already tired of me?” Paul couldn’t keep the damn comment to himself, neither the smirk that played on his lips as he turned around to Daryl, walking backwards.

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “Watch where the fuck ya goin’ or ya’ll fall on yer dumb ass.”

Paul just grinned wider and sidestepped a picnic table. He could maneuver inside this settlement blindly, had memorized it a long time ago already. One never knew when that could come in handy. “You worried about me? Oh, I never knew!”

“Shut it, ya prick!”

Paul laughed as he gracefully jumped over a potted plant. He landed closer to Daryl, nudging his shoulder playfully and quickly darting out of Daryl’s lunging range again. “That really breaks my heart, Daryl. But honestly, why did you leave?”

Daryl was still fuming and Paul didn’t think he would answer the question, when they reached the steps of the trailer. But Daryl surprised him once more, especially with what he said. “People said they ain’t had meat for months. Couldn’t just butcher cows or chickens, they need them for other things. There’re a lot of kids growin’ up around here. They just can’t eat damn carrots all day, they need some meat as well.”

Paul honestly didn’t know, what to say to that. Daryl had gone out hunting not only for his family, but the whole community of Hilltop. Despite Maggie’s words, Paul had successfully let him fool into believing that he had already seen through him, when he had barely managed to scratch at the surface. He had assumed that Daryl just was the typical redneck – quick to anger and easily outwitted, a bit too slow in the head and certainly not giving two fucks about other people than his own kin. But Daryl had the unfortunate ability to make Paul feel like the greatest dickhead in the world.

“Thank you,” he said softly, opening the trailer door. Inside, books and other stuff lay scattered around, his half-packed bag on the table. Of course Daryl’s eyes fell upon it immediately.

“Ya leavin’, too?”

“Need to go on a run for medical supplies. There are a few places I had discovered at my last tour and I want to check them out, see if it’s any worth. And we need more building supplies, so to look for a hardware store wouldn’t hurt either.”

Daryl hummed in agreement. “Who’s comin’ with ya?”

“Nobody. I always go alone,” he said, shuffling through his stack of clothes for a clean towel and some shirt for Daryl.

“The hell ya’re. I comin’ with ya.”

Paul turned around, towel and a t-shirt in hand. “The hell _you are_. I’m better off alone. Unless there is something out there that you need to protect me from?” Again, he couldn’t help it. It was too much fun to see Daryl fluster at his words and smirks. He would get into serious trouble one day for that, he was certain.

“There always is, ya jerk, no need to get so cheeky ‘bout it!”, he hissed. “That’s what’ll get ya killed!”

“Your worry for my well-being is flattering, Daryl. But I can handle myself out there. Have a little faith in me! I’m Jesus after all!” He was pressing it, he knew it, but the words fell from his mouth before his brain could catch up.

“Ya’re an asshole, that’s what ya’re!”

“I’m still going alone. Besides, you just came back.” Paul held the towel and the shirt towards Daryl while pointing with his head behind him. “Shower is over there, second door from the left. Water pressure isn’t amazing, but the water should be running hot. Leave your boots at the door, I don’t want to clean after you.”

Daryl put his crossbow down on the table harder than he probably had intended and yanked the clothes out of Paul’s hands. Then he stomped over to the shower, leaving behind him a trail of dirt and mud. Paul sighed deeply. He probably had deserved that. But he wouldn’t give Daryl the satisfaction of complaining, but suck it up and pretend nothing had ever happened. He had the feeling that would rile Daryl up even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I'll make it up to you.


	4. The Truck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There aren't many things better than a Reese. Paul just might find one or two nevertheless.

Paul listened intently for any sounds before he entered the building. The pharmacy had been rooted already a couple of times, but there was always something to be found left behind and overseen. He slowly moved between the aisles, ears perked and one knife in hand. Glass crunched under his boots, but otherwise it was silent. There was no one in there but him. In fact, there was nothing in there, in general. The shelves had been picked several times already, all he could find were some sour drops, powdered into fine dust, and a box of condoms. Extra large. Great. He stuffed them in his bag nevertheless.

Paul just got to his feet after crawling under a shelf for the condoms, when he heard something outside shuffle. He froze, halfway up from the ground, and slowly raised his knife again. He crept carefully around the scattered interior of the pharmacy and tried to make out if it were biters or other people outside. Paul didn’t hear anything again, so maybe it was just some leaves skidding over the asphalt. Then something moved in the shadows to his left and he didn’t hesitate one second. He brought the knife down quickly while grabbing the other figure and twisting on the spot to slam them to the ground in one swift movement. But something smashed in his right site, something heavy and sharp and pain raced through his arm into his elbow. The knife clattered to the ground just as he went down with the shadow, landing on top of it. Paul didn’t waste time to search for his knife, he instantly twisted around the other, pulling an arm painfully around a neck to dislocate – 

“Fuckin’ shit, Rovia!”

Paul stilled. Then blinked and pushed his hat higher that had slid down into his eyes during the short fight. “Daryl?” He instantly let go of the arm and sat up. Daryl lay beneath him, crossbow in one hand and a pissed off expression on his face. “What the fuck you’re doing here?” Paul spat.

Daryl tried to push him off one-handed and only then Paul realized that he was straddling the other man’s chest. He scrambled to his feet, extending a hand to Daryl to help him up. Daryl pushed the hand away, grunting, and got up by himself. Paul rubbed his elbow, where the crossbow had hit him. “I told you I can take care of myself! No need to come running after me!” he hissed, now pissed off himself. What was Daryl thinking? He had told him that going on runs was his thing. _Solo._

“No need to get yer panties in a twist”, grumbled Daryl. “Gregory kept driving Rick insane with his nagging, why it was ya out alone, when we should’a be searchin’ for guns. How that was the deal and all that shit and that we had to leave if none of us didn’t go after ya. So Rick told me to track ya down.”

Paul deflated a little. “Next time maybe give me a warning instead of lurking in dark corners.” He picked up his bag again that he had dropped during the fight. Something flashed in his peripheral vision and he turned around to stare at his knife that Daryl handed him like a peace offering.

“Wasn’t sure it was yer ninja ass in here.”

Paul perked up and a smirk spread across his face. “My ninja ass? I didn’t even know you were looking for it, Daryl. You’re full of surprises.”

“Fuck off.”

Paul laughed and pushed past Daryl. “Come on, _sunshine_ , there are few more stores ahead and farther off is an old gas station. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Daryl didn’t say anything at that, but followed suit after a beat. Surprisingly, it stayed that way. They went through the other shops together, but it was always Paul, who suggested where to go and what shop or building to spare. He didn’t know why, but he had thought it would be more of a hassle. That Daryl would taking the lead or at least would try to do so, but he covered Paul, while he did his thing and looked for the stuff that was on his list. It was … refreshing. Knowing someone had his back hadn’t happened in a very long time; maybe not since the outbreak. He could totally see why Rick had chosen Daryl as his right-hand man. Daryl didn’t patronize or ordered him around, but he gave his input whenever he deemed it necessary. Thanks to Daryl a one year supply of painkillers was now stuffed into his bulging bag. Paul wouldn’t have spared the store for party equipment a second glance, but Daryl said that whoever was dumb enough to open a store to sell silly paper hats, confetti and fucking helium filled balloons was probably also involved in selling a different kind of party equipment. He hadn’t been wrong. They needed to look behind several cupboards and even an ugly painting of some morbid still-life of a couple of dead rabbits among pale roses in the back office, when Daryl had stepped on the creaking floor board. Grinning he had knelt down and dug the board out, revealing a nice stack of painkillers still in their original wrapping and other colorful pills and tiny blue crystals in plastic bags. Daryl had tossed these aside dismissively, but the painkillers were a total hit.

They were on their way further out to the gas station Paul had mentioned, when they heard the moaning. They turned a corner and were faced with about a dozen biters trapped between behind large dumpsters and the end of the alley.

“Come on, they won’t do anything”, he said to Daryl, who had raised his crossbow. A distant crashing sound drove the biters in an even more agitated frenzy than they already were in at the sight of living people in front of them. Paul and Daryl exchanged a look, then slowly moved to the mouth of the alley to peek around the corner. They could see the gas station and over there, a delivery truck was parked.

“That one wasn’t there before”, Daryl mumbled.

They watched, as two men struggled with an overthrown vending machine. They put a chain around it and the trailer hitch of the truck.

“What the fuck they’re doing?”

“Well, I wonder what is inside that truck”, Paul said, a plan already forming in his mind. He shrugged off the bag, pulling some firecrackers from its pockets they had found in the party store as well.

“What ya doin’?” asked Daryl, already on high alert, but Paul didn’t have time to elaborate his plan.

“I’m trying to get the truck for us. When I set off the crackers, get the biters out and come over. If I don’t, stay here, I’ll come back.”

“What the fuck? Rovia, yer not goin’! Ya ain’t know these people!”

Paul grinned. “That’s why you’re my back-up. Please, Daryl, trust me. We can get this truck!” Before Daryl could protest further, he pulled up his bandana and dashed off. The two man over at the station didn’t hear him coming, as he purposefully crashed into the slightly broader guy. He stumbled between them and came to a halt, when he heard guns being drawn. Raising his hands, he looked from one to the other. The man he slammed into was a bit older with slightly curly red-brown hair and furrowed eyebrows. The other was probably closer to his own age, but looked younger, his eyes big and innocent, although his mouth was a tight line as he pointed his gun at Paul’s head as well.

Paul didn’t need to fake being out of breath as he said: “Hi.” So far, so good. Finger’s crossed for the rest of the plan.

“Back up!”

“Keep your hands up!”

Crap. They were a lot more hostile than they looked. “Woah, easy, guys. I was just running from the dead!”

The two man shared a short look. “How many?” asked Big-Eyes as Curly-Hair slowly backed up to peer around the corner Paul just had dashed around. He had to weave between the buildings so it wouldn’t be obvious where he really just came from.

“Ten, maybe more. I’m not risking it, once it gets to double digits I start running.”

“Where?”

“About half a mile back? They’re herded this way. You probably have about”, he quickly calculated what would sound a reasonable enough time for running away, but not immediately bursting into action, “eleven minutes.”

There was a tense moment when both men still looked suspicious enough with their guns still raised to his head. Then Curly-Hair lowered his gun. Big-Eyes followed suit. That answered the question about the leader of this little party. “Okay. Thanks for letting us know.”

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, it’s more of them than of us, right? Gonna stick together.” He almost felt sorry for robbing these guys. “Sorry for running into you. I better gotta go now. This is the next world”, he said, turning to leave. “I hope it’s good to you, guys.”

“I’m Aaron. This is Eric. What’s your name?”

Ah, shit. Not names. Paul stopped, hesitating, before his manners won. Turning around, he pulled his bandana down. “Paul Rovia. But my friends use to call me Jesus. Your pick”, he recited his little slogan, with outstretched arms and his little half-flourish just like he did when he met Rick’s group. Like he did every damn time, he couldn’t seem to stop himself, but it always helped other people to underestimate him.

“You’re on your own?” Aaron asked. Paul retreated backwards. He had to get moving, or Daryl would show up and then things might get a bit more complicated.

“Yeah, but still – best not to try anything.”

“We have – “ Aaron started, but Eric interrupted him with a quiet “You sure? _Now?_ ” Paul was already half-way around the building.

“We have some picture we want to show you!”

What the hell? These guys were strange. “Sorry, gotta run! You should, too!” he yelled, turning around a corner. “Think you got about seven minutes!” He quickly dashed around the whole building, fumbling hastily for the firecrackers. An old oil barrel stood near the rear entry, which was just perfect. Hopefully, Daryl would see or hear the turmoil. He tossed the burning crackers into the barrel and then ran back the path he had just come. The cracking and hissing of the pyros worked as planned, as the two men in front of the station immediately whipped around and darted for the sound. When Paul came running back around the corner, a smile spread across his face, because Daryl was already there, pointing his loaded crossbow in the direction the two men had just run off.

“Come on, in the truck”, he hissed under his breath. Daryl waited until he had opened the truck and climbed inside, before he too jumped in. Paul hastily started the truck with the keys he had swiped as he had crashed into this Aaron-guy and stepped on the gas, just in time as Aaron and Eric with the pictures came back running.

“Sorry!” he yelled out of the open window, not feeling very sorry at all. Daryl held his middle finger out of the other window. The damn vending machine was still towed to the truck, but fuck it, they made it.

“Did you set these biters free?” Paul asked, eyeing Daryl as he put up his feet on the dashboard.

“Nah.”

“Okay, good, at least _they_ won’t chase after us.” He felt a giggle working its way through his throat. “God, have you seen their faces? Oldest trick ever, I didn’t think it would work so well!” He was laughing now as he remembered their dumbfounded faces looking after the truck. Paul glanced over to Daryl, who stared out of the window, but turned around as though he had felt Paul’s eyes on him. A corner of his mouth was curling upwards. 

“Yeah, wasn’t that bad of a plan.”

“Oh my, is that a compliment coming from you?” Paul gasped, still grinning.

“Shut up, prick.” Daryl was still looking at him with that lopsided half-grin. It was the first time Paul really noticed the beauty mark on his upper lip.

“Asshole”, he said without any heat. He had the feeling that he would get along with Daryl after all, which was surprising, but nothing unpleasant. He had missed bickering like that, like he had done with his few friends before the world had gone to shit.

They ditched the dang vending machine half way down the road. Daryl tried to get to the sodas and candies, but the machine wouldn’t budge, not even after being dragged over the asphalt for a couple of miles. Paul used the opportunity to look inside the truck, to see what kind of treasure they had salvaged. It was the goddamn _jackpot_. Canned foods, bottled water, basic medical supplies like bandages, disinfectants, gloves and IVs, even solar powered lamps and outdoor showers and – to top it off – a box full of ammunition as well as case with three guns. Paul wanted to pull Daryl into a one-armed hug and ruffle his hair out of joy. This was like Christmas.

“Come on, we gotta go. I don’t want these guys to follow us.” Daryl’s words pulled him out of his haze. Paul eyed the boxes again and then groaned obscenely. He jumped up into the truck and worked his way through the stacks until he could pull a box out. He ripped it open and dug a handful of little packs out, before shoving it back, jumping off the truck and slamming the door shut again. He was behind the wheel with Daryl at his side, driving, as he ripped with his teeth at the orange wrapping. Not caring that he probably looked like an idiot, he shoved the whole tart of a Reese Peanut Butter Cup into his mouth, barely avoiding eating the brown paper that covered the tart’s bottom. He groaned again, already tearing open the next one. “Oh God, I missed you, babies!”

He was on his way to the fourth package, when a hand ripped it right out of his mouth. “Ya gonna die of sugar, if ya eat these all by yerself.”

Paul licked his chocolate-coated fingers, sucking every single digit and releasing it with a soft plop. Daryl’s gaze flickered to his mouth, before he too wolfed down a cup. “Oh fucking shit.”

Paul did _not_ swerve at the low moan that followed Daryl’s exclamation. He watched Daryl out of the corner of his eyes balling something in his mouth and then spitting it right out of the window. Daryl honest to God had eaten the damn paper. He grinned. “Didn’t know you were into sweet things.”

Daryl already grabbed another package. “Why, yer the one telling me all the damn time I shouldn’t worry ‘bout yer ass. Need a substitute.”

This time Paul did swerve. _Wait, what?_ Did Daryl just … Did he mean that he thought Paul’s ass was … _a sweet thing_?! Did he just turn the tables on Paul in his own game and _teased back_?

“Eyes on the road”, Daryl said, peeling away the paper of another cup and breaking a piece off, not looking at Paul. He did as he was told, still trying to understand what just happened.

“If I would’a known bitching back to ya would shut ya up, I would’a done this a lot sooner.” This time, both of Daryl’s corners of his mouth were pulled up as he held out a piece of Reese to Paul. Paul really was tempted to eat the treat out of Daryl’s hand just to see how he would react to _that_. But he didn’t want to accidentally drive the truck into a tree, so he plucked the chocolate from Daryl’s fingers, eating it as seductively as possible while still keeping an eye on the road. “Oh, you can worry about my ass all you want, since it is practically yours, _husband_.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The temperature in the truck dropped several degrees as Daryl pulled his hand back as though he had been burnt. He turned around, looking out of the window without saying another word to Paul, who had no idea what exactly had it been that disturbed Daryl so abruptly. He hadn’t said anything wrong. Or untruth. 

They drove the rest of the way in terse silence. Paul pushed the remaining Reese’s on the dashboard, suddenly not hungry anymore. He still tried to figure out how he had messed up, when the walls of Hilltop came into view. Daryl sure as hell would bolt from the truck as soon as they were inside, so he had only this chance to make it up again.

Paul took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry I just said that. I didn’t think it would bother you, the whole teasing, but I probably have overstepped a line. Talking with you that way, it’s … it’s fun and I like it. It makes me forget what kind of shit is going on for a moment. But I’m sorry if I said something that hurt you, because I didn’t mean to. I know we don’t know each other, but I think you’re not half bad, so sorry for being a dick.”

Daryl was silent, chewing on his thumb as they reached the gate. He hollered up to Rosita and Ed that they were back and the gate opened. Paul didn’t expect to get an answer by then, but Daryl then said very quietly: “’s alright. Ain’t done nothing wrong.”

Paul let out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he was holding. “So we’re good?”

Daryl glanced at him briefly. “Yeah, we’re good.”

Paul smiled then, relieved. “Good. So let’s unload this babe”, he said pulling the truck up in front of Barrington House and putting it into park. Daryl nodded at him shortly, before jumping off and getting to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm more or less quoting the show with the dialogue between Paul, Aaron and Eric. I hope you like the re-write ;)


	5. The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul gets hit in the head. Twice.

Life at the Hilltop changed with Rick’s group. First of all, there was a shitload of gossip happening, because their community was suddenly fourteen people stronger, a number that wouldn’t have made such a big difference, since there were already around fifty people living here. But it were fourteen very different people from the rest of the Hilltop residents and therefore interesting, especially for the kids. They stared in open astonishment at Abraham’s giant ginger mustache that seemed to have a life of its own whenever he barked out that booming laugh of his. Carl was mostly avoided by the other kids, simply because he was so very unlike them. There was almost nothing childlike left in him; he had grown up fast, maybe too fast. The only one who didn’t seem to cower in his presence was Enid, a girl Paul had found several weeks ago, covered in filth and terrified for her life. Ever since she lived at the Hilltop, she hadn’t said more than two words. But with Carl, there seemed to be a mutual, if wordless understanding between these two.

The men of Hilltop thought they were subtle as they checked out the new women amongst them. Sasha seemed to draw in quite a few glances, which didn’t surprise Paul in the slightest. She was beautiful with her big brown eyes and slender build, but he wouldn’t dare make her advances, not for the love of his life. There was something in her eyes that told him, she wouldn’t deal long with anyone’s bullshit. Paul liked her very much. 

Despite Glenn, a lot of men also leered after Maggie as well as her sister Beth, especially Mike, Tony and Rob, three testosterone-fueled teenagers and Paul chewed them out one evening, spitting fury. They had the decency to look ashamed, if only because Paul had caught them red-handed comparing the two women’s bodies in a not very g-rated way.

There were talks about Eugene’s eccentricity, about whether or not Abraham and Rosita got it on behind the barn this one time or not, about Michonne and how she might had come to the possession of a goddamn sword (Earl, their blacksmith, practically drooled over the fine handiwork as Michonne very reluctantly had shown the sword to him), about Tara and that she was so obviously interested in girls. It just went on and on and Paul would find it very amusing, if it weren’t for the darker talks. Talks about Rick and the way he looked at them at times, like he debated if he should just give them all a blow to the head, so they would open their goddamn eyes and see the world as it was. Paul sometimes wished he did. The people were weary of Carol as well, although she was all smiles all day. But especially Mary and her kitchen crew didn’t like it, when she gripped a knife to chop some onions. Paul knew that feeling, because he got it every time Carol saw him bantering with Daryl. Like she was ready to plunge a knife in his skull if he did just breathe wrong.

And then of course there was Daryl himself. People tended to give him a wide berth, which seemed to suit Daryl just fine. But the looks that followed him were worried and mistrusting, although Daryl never did something that would justify that. He had brought back from his hunts one more deer, a wild boar and countless rabbits and squirrels so far, meat that was desperately needed. He didn’t bother any of the Hilltop people when he needed something, instead he tried to do it himself, if not one of his family took care of it (mostly it was Carol and mostly she fussed about his clothes or him taking a shower; Paul tended to silently agree on the latter). Not once did he turn down a request for a run and every time he did everything to find these people all items they made Paul put on his list.

Sometimes Paul wanted to shake them fiercely and shout at them, what more they wanted. 

Rick had kept his promise and shown the few that were willing how to shoot with the few guns they were able to scavenge. Rosita and Sasha had taken to the duty to teach them and they were good. So far, only Bertie, Anton, Dante, Kal, Ed and Marco wanted to know how to shoot and until they were able to come up with more weapons, this was the maximum. Still, better than nothing.

Gregory most of the time was seen at his office, sipping at the bottle of scotch Paul and Daryl had brought in with the truck, pretending to organize the work at Hilltop. Rick often wasn’t far from punching him in the face, Paul could tell. Michonne used to touch his elbow at times when the urge seemed to get overwhelming and Rick always deflated after that short contact, gathering his people for the next run. So far, they hadn’t been lucky finding any useful weapons, but Rick kept talking about the law of averages and Daryl used to snort at that, but didn’t say a thing.

When they were readying themselves one morning to head out again, Gregory came to them with his pale eyes wide open in fake concern, bursting through the loose circle they had drawn around Rick. People were already at work after a brief breakfast. The air was still cool and everyone wanted to get some work done before the heat got too overbearing again.

“Richard!” Gregory called, still not bothering to remember a simple four-letter name.

Rick’s head snapped up from the map he was studying on the hood of one of the cars Paul and Daryl had come back with recently. His face fell a little as he saw Gregory approaching. “Yeah?”

Gregory puffed a bit as he came to a halt. “You’ve been here almost three weeks now and so far, you weren’t able to bring in the guns you promised. I hope you have a plan.”

Paul crossed his arms as he watched the exchange. The difference between the two people, both leaders of a group, couldn’t have been more obvious. Rick took on a relaxed stance, but Paul instantly saw through that cop-demeanor. “We’re heading out with three groups today. This way, we’re able to cover more ground. Michonne, Tara, Glenn and Eugene will go southwest, see if there’s something left here.” He pointed to a place on the map. 

Gregory squinted. “Costco? Why do you think there’re weapons there?”

“I don’t think so.” Gregory already opened his mouth at that, but Rick rode on: “We don’t need just weapons, we need food and medicine as well as some construction materials. There is a hardware store close as well. They’ll take the pickup, see what they can get and take stock of what’s there, so we can come back with more people. They’re going to look for the things needed to build these solar panels. I’ll take Rosita, Maggie and Carl, heading south this way. There was an US Coast Guard post and a shooting range and further down the Fort Belvoir military hospital, maybe there’s something left, but probably not. Anyway, this way lies Bakerville. It used to be home of the Black Crows.”

Gregory gave him a confused look.

“It was a MC. Motorcycle Club”, he clarified as Gregory still looked at him with blank eyes. “They had storehouses all over the area and hopefully hadn’t enough time to loot them all.”

At that Gregory nodded eagerly. “Yes, these bike-riding scoundrels are finally good for something!” Daryl shifted slightly at that and Gregory’s eyes snapped over to him before quickly landing back on Rick. Paul couldn’t suppress the smirk. Out of all people, Gregory was the most jumpy around Daryl, although it was him that had thrown Paul and Daryl into that marriage-bullshit gleefully. Maybe by now he had noticed that Daryl wasn’t some dumb redneck trash, but a skillful and loyal fighter and Rick’s right-hand man.

Rick eyed Gregory for a moment, than continued: “Daryl, Abraham, Sasha and Jesus will head west, getting close to Fairfax. There was a club from the Navy and the NRA National Firearms Museum as well as another hospital. Hopefully, there’s something left, but since on their last run Daryl had spotted some Humvees on a bridge that way, I’m rather positive.”

Gregory nodded at that, while looking over at Paul. “When will you be back?”

Rick shrugged. “Probably a week, maybe more.”

“A week?” Gregory almost squealed. Paul knew that Gregory liked having Rick’s group around for manning the walls and making security rounds around the Hilltop, work no one in Hilltop would do gladly but Rick’s group. Gregory more than once had taken advantage of that, sending them out - especially Daryl and Michonne – to take care of stray biters. Rick gave him a sharp look. “Yeah, that sounds about alright”, Gregory added quickly.

Rick turned around at that, back to the map, dismissing Gregory clearly, who actually took the hint and headed back to the house. Paul wondered if he noticed that with the planned duration of the run, Rick’s group would probably overstay the agreed on period of Hilltop housing them. Hopefully only later.

“Alright, everybody knows where to go and what to look for?” Rick asked the others standing in a tighter circle around him, now that Gregory had left. Nods from every direction. They had taken their weapons back after the festivities of the so-called marriage and now split the impressive amount of guns and rifles up between them. Sasha and Rosita had already grabbed their sniper rifles; everybody else just took what was laid out on the bed of the pickup. Paul looked up surprised as Daryl came over and offered him a gun as well.

“Ya need more than them knives and yer ninja bullshit if we’re headin’ out that far.”

Paul glanced quickly at Rick, who nodded in return. It felt bigger than just being armed for a trip, more like being accepted into their little circle. Being trusted with this mission and with his people. Paul felt his nerves flutter uncomfortably at that thought. Trust meant responsibility, which meant caring, helping, committing himself and a whole load of other things that only resulted into one big upshot. Letting those people get close to him. Paul didn’t know if he was ready for that.

“Alright, Glenn, Tara, Eugene, Michonne, you take the pickup. Daryl, Abraham, Sasha, Jesus, you ok with the Cherokee?”

“Tight squeeze, but it’ll be ok”, answered Abraham, shouldering one of the rifles and grinning broadly. “The newlyweds will have to do with the backseats.”

“Fuck off, asshat”, growled Daryl, giving Abraham a pissed look, before sauntering over to the car.

Paul couldn’t help it. “Aw, but Daryl, don’t you want to annoy the hell out of _them_ with excessive smooching?”

Sasha groaned as she followed him and Daryl over to the car, Abraham close behind. “Oh God, please, behave yourself. I don’t want to put up with a bloody nose, because Daryl punched you in the face.”

Paul just opened his mouth to shoot right back the ball that Sasha had so generously thrown in his court, when something hit him in the forehead. “Ouch!”

“Hands to yerself, now get in the damn car, hippie.”

Paul glared at Daryl, rubbing his forehead. The fucker had thrown a pebble at him! “You could have hit me in the eye with that!”

Sasha climbed into the driver’s seat, while Abraham moved to the passenger side.

“Nah.” Daryl climbed in behind Sasha, which left Paul the tightest space behind Abraham. Rick came over, leaning into Sasha’s window. “You’ll be alright?”

She nodded. “I’m starting to feel like a kindergarten teacher, but yeah, I’ll manage.”

Rick grinned, straightening up and hitting the roof of the car with his flat hand. “Safe travels and good luck. Oh, and Daryl? Don’t shoot Jesus. It would be highly blasphemous!”

“Fuck off, Rick!”

Rick took off, laughing, to his group of three, who were already waiting in their car to drive out as well. The gates opened and Glenn in the pickup started up, followed by Sasha and behind them Maggie.

The ride was uneventful and despite Paul’s own earlier words, he made sure not to touch Daryl. He knew the other man was uncomfortable with that and the icy silence after accidentally calling him his husband out loud (because that was what had pissed off Daryl, Paul was pretty sure now, although he didn’t know if it was because Daryl hated being married in general, to a guy or to Paul in particular) wasn’t something he wanted to experience again, especially with Sasha and Abraham around.

They didn’t talk much despite directions until they came close to the bridge, where Daryl had seen the Humvees during their last run. Then, they had been some miles away, only watching the road through binoculars, because they were looking for incoming biters. They had been on foot, so checking out the Humvees was a bit too far, much to Daryl’s displeasure. They were getting close to a big intersection now, from where the bridge finally emerged. Sasha put the car in park and looked around.

“Do we split up?” she asked, still glancing out of the windscreen. 

Abraham leaned forward to eye the Humvees on the bridge. Civil and military vehicles stood scattered around, some clearly broken, some only abandoned. Lampposts lay crisscrossed over the street and from one a walker dangled, only held up by the strap of his rifle that was still slung over his shoulder. “Well, hello there, sweetheart.” Abraham already pulled the door handle and got out. Sasha, Daryl and Paul followed suit.

Sasha grabbed her rifle, sweeping the streets with watchful eyes. “Me and Jesus will take a look around, see if there’s someone or even walkers. You two get up there and see what’s inside the Humvees. Maybe we can take one back to Hilltop.”

Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and tapped Abraham on the shoulder. “I’m lookin’ over there.” He gestured over to a clogged up section, where quite a few trucks had crushed into each other. “Maybe there’s something useful in there.”

Abraham nodded. “I’m getting old McMoaning over there and check the Humvees.”

“Be careful”, said Sasha before she took off with Paul. Paul glanced quickly at Daryl’s retreating angel wings, then followed Sasha, his gun drawn. They worked their way through the cars, checking the trunks of the ones that were open. They didn’t find anything useful, just some suitcases with clothes, some photo albums Paul didn’t dare to look at, and some books. Paul was tempted, but they were all cheesy romance novels with women making goo-goo eyes at some stoic looking, half-naked guy on the covers. They were half-way down the road, when the first biters appeared. Sasha threw him a look and he nodded, as they both put their guns away. Better not make any more noise than necessary.

Paul pulled out his knife and snatched his bandana out of the pocket of his coat, tying it quickly around his neck. Sasha gestured to him and he dove behind a car, so the biters would focus on her, while he darted around the car to come up from the side. The shuffling feet came closer, stumbling occasionally over pieces of debris and stuff strewn all over the street. After almost a year of living with the walking dead, Paul still felt chills running down his back at the senseless moaning and scrapping of blunt fingers over metal and glass.

The first biter squeezed itself between two cars, mindless of the flesh it ripped off itself in the process. It had once been a man in a suit, which was now torn and dark with splotches of gore and filth. A formerly obnoxiously expensive watch still dangled from a gaunt wrist. The man staggered two steps towards Sasha, who lunged forward and drove her knife in the skull, which was now soft and rotten from being exposed to the weather for so long. He sank down ungracefully, making room for the next biter, another man, but this one shorter, younger, almost a boy. Paul was ready to plunge his knife into him, when suddenly dead hands grabbled at his coat from behind, followed by a sharp and sudden pain in his shoulder. Paul whirled around, bringing the knife with him in one swift move. It bounced off a helmet. Fuck. The biter, a guy in a heavy military uniform, clicked his mouth frantically too close to his face for Paul’s liking. He was crowded against the car he had ducked behind, with no room to move and bring his knife up again. Paul rammed his elbow in the direction of the raging mouth, praying that the leather of his coat still protected him from any bites. A few teeth went flying, but the biter snapped at him mindlessly. Then Paul got his feet under him properly and lashed out, off-balancing the corpse and falling with it to the ground, finally pushing his knife through the soft skin under the chin and all the way up into the brain. The soldier went still and Paul huffed a breath of relief.

“Jesus?!” he heard Sasha’s too high voice.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Fuck, that was close.

“Jesus!”

Paul stood, peering over the roof of the car. “Fuck!” Dead soldiers, all wearing helmets and heavy combat armor swarmed Sasha from all sides. She knifed one after the other, but since she couldn’t stab them clean in the temple, she had trouble fighting them off. He dashed around, nearly ripping the sleeve of his coat on a twisted piece of metal poking out of the side of the car, and kicked the first biter in the back, while plunging his knife in the next. He was able to take down two more, before he as well was pushed backwards against the car again, the metal piercing painfully into his lower back.

Teeth snapped too close to his ears, sickening groans filled his head, fingers grabbed his clothes and pulled at his hair. The stench was overwhelming up close and Paul was momentarily blindsided by the sudden certainty that he would get bitten right now. There would be rotten teeth pulling his flesh apart, ripping skin and flesh from his bones, while fingers dug into his soft stomach, pulling his entrails out of his still living body, while he would watch them stuff pieces of himself into their mouths. He lashed out, desperately trying to get some room so he could move and fight them off. The metal was piercing through his coat now, slicing his back into bloody shreds until it was stopped by something solid and equally metallic. The gun. _The gun!_

Paul shoved his arm into snapping mouths to hold them as far away from his body as possible as he reached frantically behind himself. His gore-covered fingers that mere moments ago were inside the eye sockets of one of the impassible corpses grabbling at him, trying to shove it off, fumbled with the shirt and coat that stuck to his back due to sweat and blood. He ripped the gun forward and pulled the trigger, one time, two times, three times, until his ears rang and his face and front were covered in blood sprayed from the exploding heads mere inches from his face. 

Paul blinked frantically to clear the blood out of his eyes. More biters squeezed through the cars, blocking each other in their haste to get closer to him. Sasha. Where was Sasha?! He jolted around the car as he heard a loud bang. Something blue flashed shortly right before his eyes, before it cracked right into him with enough force to knock him off his feet. He briefly saw a shocked Sasha, and then everything was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Paul :(


	6. The Rag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha is truly sorry and Daryl makes a compliment.

When Paul came to himself, he felt warm and cozy, leaning against something soft and the ground swayed slightly, lulling him back into unconsciousness. He slid slightly to the right to get more comfortable and something warm pressed into him. But only for a second, then he was pushed roughly away. His head jolted and suddenly pain flared hot and bright behind his eyes. A groan escaped him.

“Great, now you woke up sleeping beauty.” The voice sounded far away, but it was unmistakably Abraham.

Paul didn’t want to open his eyes. The soft rocking that was so soothing moments ago, was now giving him a nausea. His head throbbed with pain that spread from his forehead through his skull, pulsing with the force of several jackhammers trying to split his head open. His back burnt like it was on fire and he shifted again to the right, trying to get rid of the feeling of being rubbed raw by his own clothes.

“Wha’ happened?” he mumbled into the warm something – someone. It was nice here. Under the prominent smell of blood and sweat, there was something entirely different, something spicy. Paul inhaled deeply and regretted it instantly, as his nose screamed in protest. He again was shoved away unceremoniously. 

A soft chuckle from his left side, which was also warm, but didn’t smell as nice. “Sasha whacked you in the head with a car door, thought you were a biter.”

“I’m so sorry, Jesus!” came Sasha’s voice and she genuinely sounded so. Paul cracked an eye open. They sat in a car, a bigger one than the car they had come down here with, because they were all crushed together on one big front seat. “You came around the car so suddenly, I thought you were one of them! I am really sorry!”

“’s alright”, he groaned, cautiously touching his forehead. A big goose egg was swelling right underneath his hairline. A bit of sticky blood smeared on his fingers. He glanced over to Sasha, who was driving again. Her eyes were big and worried, darting between the street and him. “Really, it’s ok, I’m ok. What happened anyway?”

Sasha turned her eyes on the road again since Paul didn’t have a raging frenzy over being hit in the face by a door. He honestly didn’t feel like staying upright and alert any longer and slumped down in the seat again. Abraham’s bulky frame pressed awkwardly into his left side and he leaned to his right again, where he felt comforted by that nicer smell anyway. Where Daryl sat pressed between the door and him. 

Oh. Oh shit.

Paul tried to straighten up, but it was difficult while his head swam annoyingly and the road rocked them together anyway.

“There wasn’t much guns, sadly. None, to be exact.”

Paul glanced at Abraham. Something was different about him … something very strange. “What are you _wearing?_ ”

“Thank God, it’s not only me”, muttered Sasha.

“A jacket.”

Paul pushed himself upright, using Daryl’s knee as support by accident. “Are these army badges?!”

Abraham grumbled. “It’s just a nice jacket. And it suits me, don’t you think?”

Paul huffed. “No weapons, but you got yourself some dress blues?”

“Oh, I didn’t say there weren’t weapons, just no guns”, grinned Abraham. “The dead fucker on the lamppost? Wasn’t a rifle around his shoulders, but a RPG. Even found the ammo. It’s loaded up in there”, he jerked his head back, a huge grin beneath his enormous mustache.

Paul’s eyebrows shot up at that, but he instantly winced as the skin over his bulge was shoved together the wrong way.

“Daryl found this truck. If we’re gonna haul in the stuff from the hardware store, it’ll definitely come in handy”, Sasha quipped in.

Paul threw a sideward glance at Daryl, who pointedly looked out of the window. Their sides were pressed together and Paul soaked up the warmth shamelessly. He felt more than groggy after this day and it had only been the first so far.

They camped at the side of the road this evening, sleeping in the back of the truck. Abraham proudly showed Paul the RPG and the itch to test this thing out dangled like the sweetest carrot right before Abraham’s face. They stood guard in shifts, but all of them insisted on Paul taking the whole night’s rest, especially Sasha. Paul didn’t argue. He had tried to wash the walker’s blood from his face with his bandana, but it was a lost cause. The blood had dried and the bandana was soaked anyway. He debated silently about keeping and giving it to Martha for cleaning, but in the end, it was just a piece of cloth. When they left in the morning after a meager breakfast, he left it deliberately behind.

After their encounter with the dead soldiers on the bridge, the rest of the run was piece of cake. They ran into some biters, some even heavily armed, but no overpowering herd. The NRA museum was a total pratfall, but the Navy club was gold. They collected quite a nice load of guns there, which hadn’t been raided due to the armor wearing dead shuffling over the enclosed grounds like dutifully guard dogs, but for the four of them it was easy to take them out together. Paul still was a bit unsure on his feet, so he kept to basic knife stabbing, which was enough since Sasha took most of the biters out with clean headshots that smashed even through the helmets most of them wore.

Dark spots danced before Paul’s eyes as he pulled his new bandana down and he eyed the mass of corpses lying on the ground.

“Yer ok?” Daryl came over, studying him with watchful eyes. Then they suddenly widened like he was shocked at what he saw on Paul.

“What? What is it?” Paul padded himself down quickly. Was there a scratch he hadn’t noticed?

“Nothin’ … is just … forget it.” Then he turned around and followed Abraham and Sasha inside the building. Paul furrowed his brows, looking down at him. He wore the exact same clothes he had worn few days prior when they left Hilltop. Cargo pants, his boots, his vest with the belts and his knives crisscrossing over his waist, his coat, his hat. Nothing Daryl hadn’t seen before, although he had eyed the coat more than once suspiciously. Paul shrugged, tugging at his bandana as he finally followed the others inside.

Then he stopped abruptly. His bandana. Well, not his bandana per se. He had thrown that piece of cloth away a few days ago, so when he had dug in his pockets for a replacement before they started mowing down the dead here, he had come up with only one other cloth to cover his face with. Daryl’s red rag. Which he now still wore around his neck.

Paul hang his head at his own dumbness. Sometimes he was such an idiot.

He trotted inside and helped the others secure the weapons they found and load them in the truck. 

This night, he insisted on taking watch guard. He couldn’t sleep anyway, his mind racing and circling around the same thing over and over. He sat at the sill, one foot dangling down, the other propped up so he could rest his arm on it while he kneaded Daryl’s rag in his hands. He didn’t know why, but he liked the feel of the fabric, soft and worn, but the threads once had been strong and sturdy. Daryl had given it to him as a symbol of their mutual respect for the deal they made. A deal that now lay behind Paul and used up most of the space of the once empty truck, crates and boxes with guns and rifles of varying sizes and models, and even more cases with ammunition. 

And Paul had nothing better to do than to wear said symbol of respect and acceptance while slaughtering biters, getting blood all over it. Of course Daryl had been pissed. He surely wanted it back after the deal was fulfilled and Rick wanted to move on. Even if Rick didn’t, the rag belonged to Daryl and Paul had every intention of giving it back to him. If he was able to not fuck it up and shred it first.

Paul sighed and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t recognized himself the way he acted around Daryl sometimes. Yes, he liked to tease people, but he never did it so bluntly or persistently as he did with Daryl. He annoyed the man to the bone, but he couldn’t stop himself. Just watching Daryl getting riled up was _gold_. This could only be topped by Daryl bantering back, which he did from time to time when they were on runs together. Paul just couldn’t get enough.

He thought about the way Daryl sometimes grinned at him, smugly, when a comment out of Daryl Dixon’s mouth had made him yet again speechless, at least for some seconds. The way his eyes fucking sparkled with hidden mischief. The time Daryl had offered him a Reese and Paul had seriously debated taking it out of his hands by licking it clean off Daryl’s fingers. 

Paul felt a heavy heat coil in his stomach.

He groaned, letting his head fall against his arm. _Oh hell, Rovia, you’re such a nutcase._ Paul knew that feeling very well, although he vowed to himself to never act on it again. He was getting attracted to Daryl, his fake husband. God, could he be more of a walking cliché? A gay man being attracted to a guy he got partnered up with and who was certainly not interested in any of it. Alex had been a safe bet, because while Paul had found Alex sexy in a strictly physical sense, he wasn’t in danger of falling for the guy. Alex was gentle and sweet and understanding, but for more Paul needed someone he could occasionally clash with, someone who would argue with Paul when needed and was supportive in other cases. Someone who would bicker with Paul between the sheets about which one would be topping this night, and wouldn’t mind if it got a bit rough in the process. Someone like Jared had been.

Paul and Jared had been like fire and water, but they had loved each other fiercely. Jared was just as stubborn as Paul could be sometimes and while Paul tended to be the calmer of the two of them, he could just get as heated in an argument. On the other hand, Jared always inspired him to try new things and it had been him, who had introduced Paul to mixed martial arts. Jared had been a beast of a man, packed with muscles, but he was such a softie sometimes. He got so emotional whenever a fictional character of a TV series died that he had cuddled close to Paul so he could stroke his hair soothingly. _Game of Thrones_ had been a horror show for him.

Then there had been the sex. God, Paul sometimes missed it so badly it hurt. First it was the total freedom that came with having sex with your boyfriend. Paul only had flings and one night stands before so being with someone, who got to know your body was thrilling. Paul had liked it rough with Jared, trusting him completely whenever he got pinned down on the bed and manhandled to Jared’s likings. But Paul had also liked their slow and lazy lovemaking and that he could get Jared off with the softest touches. 

After they split up, because Jared had moved to fucking London, Great Britain, End of the World, Paul had needed almost one year to be able to have sex again and then it was just a huge disappointment. It got better after that, but never quite as satisfying. Having sex with Alex had been the closest to that he had ever felt again after Jared. But there had been no bubbling heat in his stomach, no lusting after someone just to be close to them.

Not until now.

Hell, Paul didn’t even know, why. Daryl wasn’t his type. He wasn’t even attractive by the old standards of numerous high gloss magazines Paul had used to jerk off in his youth. He had never been the one for unkempt hair and although he couldn’t deny that Daryl had nicely sculptured arms, they weren’t by any means the bulging muscles Jared had walked around with. Paul hadn’t even been able to close his hands around his ex-boyfriend’s upper arms and he had always drooled at the sight of the rest of him, his fucking mind-boggling waist-to-shoulders ratio, his broad chest and his worship-worthy stomach muscles. Daryl had a broad back, but Abraham had that as well and Paul wasn’t over the moon for _him_. Heck, Daryl didn’t have nice, kissable looking lips; he hid his eyes behind those bangs of unruly hair and the few tattoos Paul had been able to see didn’t bolster up his appearance in Paul’s eyes.

_But still_. Something about that edgy roughness had Paul hooked.

“Can’t sleep?”

Paul flinched so violently that his propped up leg shot out and his head snapped up jerkily. Speak of the devil.

“Sorry, didn’t want to spook ya.”

“I’m not _spooked_.” Paul winced as his head started throbbing slightly again after the sudden movement.

“No?” Daryl sat down leaning against the opposite wall of the truck. “Good. Otherwise it wouldn’t do much good keepin’ ya on watch any longer.” He pulled out the pack of cigarettes Paul had given to him.

He watched Daryl for a moment, how the flame shortly illuminated his face. Daryl had high cheekbones and a straight nose that were almost always hidden behind these bangs. Paul’s fingers itched to push them back out of his face. Instead he clutched the fabric in his hands harder. “I’m sorry for getting you only these stale butts.” 

Daryl looked up. After a while he blew white smoke out of the corner of his mouth and said: “’s alright. At least I can smoke them. All I got you is some useless rag.”

Paul smiled. Daryl had said _you_ , not _ya_. He shook his head. “It isn’t useless. It was very helpful today.”

Daryl was quiet for a moment. “Didn’t know you carried that dang thing around.”

“I’m sorry it got all dirty, though. I’m trying to get the stains out when we’re back.” Paul absent-mindedly stroked over the fabric.

“Don’t bother, it’s just an old rag.”

“No, it isn’t. You carried it around for a while now, I can tell. It’s all soft and worn, but you still kept it. And then you gave it to me.” What the hell was he talking about? Paul had no idea, why he said that.

Daryl eyed him, but didn’t say a word for a long time. He smoked his cigarette, staring out in the night. Paul didn’t try to get a conversation flowing. Just sitting here with Daryl was oddly comfortable. The heat in his belly was there, but it simmered low, warming him from the inside. It felt nice. 

Daryl eventually got up and jumped on light feet out of the truck. “Ya should try to sleep, I’ll take the rest of the watch.” He looked at Paul, then came over, stepping closer until he was right in front of Paul. He looked at the rag between Paul’s fingers. “That’s been the last rag I used on my bike. It’s fucking silly, but I liked the color.”

Paul held his breath, because otherwise he wouldn’t have heard Daryl over his suddenly rabbit-fast beating heart. He stood so close, Paul only had to stretch out his hand and he would touch Daryl’s face. He didn’t though. “I like the feel of it.”

Daryl looked up sharply as though he had forgotten Paul was mere inches away from him. “Take some rest, yer face still looks like a fuckin’ nightmare.”

Paul cracked a smile. “You make the most beautiful compliments, Dixon.”

Daryl snorted and hit him square across the chest without any force, then turned around and walked a few feet into the night to take a look around their camp. Paul fell back, still grinning and holding the rag in his hand. Sleep came surprisingly easy.


	7. The Salesman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected meeting has an abrupt ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhat close to the series. If I got some quotes wrong, then I'm sorry. I'm just including this into my fanfactional story and I do not own the original works of The Walking Dead.

They were on their way back after over a week raiding the surroundings of Fairfax. Their truck was filled with weapons, ammo and things they found in one of the hospitals – stretchers, surgical instruments, a portable ultrasound, blankets, tons of bandages and even a few narcotics. They were in a good mood, because the McDonald’s on their way back still had a few cans of Coke left and they were all on sugar and caffeine. 

Daryl was behind the wheel this time, with Paul pressed against his side. A bandage was wrapped around Paul’s head on Sasha’s insistence, much to his dismay, because it itched annoyingly under his beanie. But it kept him thankfully from thinking too much about Daryl’s leg pressing into his side, warm and comfortable. This and Sasha sat right beside him with Abraham pressed against the passenger door. 

They were probably ten miles away from the Hilltop and Abraham was telling them some story about an exploding camel that had Paul laughing so hard tears run down his face, when Sasha suddenly sobered up. “Daryl.”

“Yeah, I see.”

Paul wiped at his face as bikes parked in the middle of the road came into view. His blood turned into ice in his veins at the sight of the men sitting comfortably on their bikes, guns at ready and pointed at them. 

“What in the holy shit?” Abraham couldn’t have uttered a more accurate comment. Daryl hit the brakes and brought the truck to a halt. They sat in stony silence, watching the men in front of them. They were seven, all looking like the walking rocker cliché with leather vests and/or long hair except for one, who looked like your next-door Dad.

Abraham blew out a breath threw his nose, his jaws grinding against each other. Paul eyed the men on their bikes. Rifles and guns pointed at the cabin they all sat in. Their leader, a man with dark oily hair and grey scruff leaned casually against the handle bar of his bike. If Paul had met him before the apocalypse, he would have expected him to show up on doorsteps in ill-fitting, awful suits to sell vacuum cleaners or insurances to unsuspecting housewives. 

“Won’t you come on out?” the guy said, beckoning them with a hand wave. “Do this on the road.”

Without sharing a look, Paul knew what they all thought. All their weapons, all their gear was in the back. They only got a handgun and some knives each. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. Neither of them moved, though.

“If you wanna resist”, spoke the fake-biker aka insurance salesman again, “try something, be sure we will end your asses. So come on.” That hand wave again.

After a moment’s consideration, Daryl killed the engine and then popped the door open, as did Abraham. They slowly climbed out of the truck, Sasha and Paul after Abraham, while Daryl stood on the left. Paul didn’t like that; he made himself a clear target for whatever bullshit was going to happen. Reluctantly they stepped in front of the open truck door.

“Oh that’s great! It’s going well right out of the gate”, salesman said jovially to his companions. “Now step two.” He held up two fingers of his hand. Paul didn’t know if he tried to be funny. “Hand over your weapons.”

“Why should we?” snapped Daryl instantly.

“Well, they’re not yours.” The guy said it in such a condescending tone as though he talked with slow-minded kids. Paul felt the hair on his arms bristle. That guy was full of shit. 

“What?” huffed Abraham.

“See”, salesman-slash-biker-guy stepped forward, ready to explain to the dumb kids the most obvious facts. “Your weapons, your truck, the fuel in your truck. You got meds in your glove compartment, you got porn underneath the seats, change in the seats, hell the seats themselves, the floor mats, your maps, the stash of emergency napkins you got there in the console – none of those things are yours anymore.”

“Whose are they?” demanded Sasha and Paul again admired her for her balls. 

Salesman stepped closer, his voice now dangerously calm. “Your property now belongs to Negan.”

_Who the fuck was Negan?_

They stared at each other, unmoving. Sure as hell, salesman spoke up again. “How you got your hands on a truck? Our person wants to know. So, let’s get those sidearm, shall we? Right now.” He stepped in front of Daryl, tapping the tips of his fingers together as though he was barley holding it back. Paul prayed Daryl wouldn’t make an imprudent move and give those fuckers a reason to riddle them with bullets.

If looks could kill, the guy would have dropped to the ground. Instead, Daryl ripped his gun from the back of his pants and handed it over.

“Thank you”, said salesman sickly sweet as he moved over to Sasha and then him, thanking them in the same emetic voice. When he stopped in front of Abraham and looked into his stony face, he actually had the audacity to say: “If you have to eat shit, best not to nibble. Bite, chew, swallow, repeat. Goes quicker.” For a moment, Paul thought Abraham would punch the guy into the ground to never be seen again. Then he slowly handed over his gun as well.

The guy carried their guns away like a child would with gifts on Christmas Day. 

“Who are you people?” asked Sasha, crossing her arms.

“I get the curiosity. But we have questions ourselves. And we’ll be the ones asking them, while we drive you back to where ever it is you call home. First though, your shit. What do you got for us?”

“Yeah, ya just took it”, growled Daryl.

The guy looked overly disappointed. “Oh come on. Can we please not? There’s more. There is always more.”

As none of them moved, he sighed and gestured to one of his goons. “T.” The guy, who looked like your poster dad got off his bike and walked over to Daryl. This wasn’t looking good. Salesman turned around again, looking at Daryl like he was a disobedient child. “Take my man to the back of the truck, start inside the back bumper and work your way to the front.”

The guy pushed Daryl and Paul could hardly keep still. He wanted to jump that guy in the back and smash his head against the street until only a bloody chunk was left.

“Oh, oh, easy now, baby eyes”, chuckled salesman. “T won’t harm your boyfriend.”

Paul could feel Sasha throwing him a quick glance, but neither said anything. 

“Bite, chew, swallow. Repeat.” 

Again, like a goddamn _mantra_. Paul balled his fists. This arrogant asshole was practically asking for it. The guy settled on his bike again, getting comfortable and looking too smug for his own good.

“Who’s Negan?” barked Abraham.

“Ding-dong! Hell’s bells!” Salesman gleefully pointed his own gun at Abraham’s head for that question alone. Paul felt Sasha getting rigid right beside him. This was going to get ugly really fast. “You see, usually we introduce ourselves by popping one of you right out of the bed, but you seem like reasonable people. You’re sporting dress blues for Christ’s sake! And when I say we’re gonna drive you back from where you were … You know how awkward it is carpooling with someone whose friend or friends you just killed?” He pulled a face as though he accidentally had stepped on someone’s toes while dancing. “But I told you not to ask any questions. And what does this ginger do?”

Paul felt sweat trickle down his spine. This guy was insane. He would pull the trigger just to have a laugh.

“So, that is that”, he said all business-like again when no one answered him. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.” He seemed genuinely concerned about that. Than he suddenly pulled the safety of his gun, straightening to shoot.

“Wait!” called Sasha, sounding panicked. Abraham looked over to her, his thoughts of _What the hell you doing there?_ written in bold letters on his forehead. “Wait. You don’t wanna do this”, Sasha said, voice forced calm and even.

The greasy salesman only pulled out a second gun and pointed it to Sasha as well. Paul moved a step in front of her, which earned him a Tsk and more guns pointed at his head by the guy’s biker friends. Paul held up his hands at shoulder height, but didn’t move back.

“Shut up”, murmured Abraham.

“I am talking to the man”, hissed Sasha back.

“No, you’re not”, the salesman said while still pointing the guns at Sasha’s and Abraham’s heads. Then suddenly, he deflated, dropping the guns in his lap. “Nah, I’m not gonna kill you.” As though they were all best buddies enjoying a prank. 

Sasha let out a relieved breath, but Paul wasn’t fooled so easily. This guy was unpredictable and he obviously was bored waiting for T to come back with their weapons. Which now Paul realized took way to long. Their truck was full of shit, why hadn’t T already called his boss over? _Fucking shit, Dixon_ , he thought viciously. _Don’t pull any stupid shit._

“Wait! Wait.” The greasy salesman said, mostly to himself as though he remembered suddenly something very important. “You know what? Yes I am.”

Before Paul could move a finger, the air exploded into a bright fireball right before his eyes, knocking him off his feet. He covered his head with his arms while trying to cover Sasha from flying bike parts and other definitely human-looking chunks. His ears rang and he squinted in the direction, where the gang only seconds ago had lounged on their machines like they were the kings of the world. Only charred skeletons of the bikes remained, everything else was a burned black mess. Dark smoke rose into the air, choking him.

_What the hell?_ He slowly got to his feet, pulling Sasha upright as well. Abraham groaned and Sasha pressed a hand to her temple, coughing. Slowly they walked around the truck. There stood Daryl eying the RPG in his hands, then the remains of the gang and then threw a quick glance over to them to make sure they were alright. Paul swallowed. Seeing Daryl with that heavy weapon in his hands did nothing to temper the sudden burst of heat in his belly again. He had blown up these assholes with an honest to God RPG and now stood there so casually like he did that every other day in his life.

Daryl turned around, walking to the back of the truck. “Son of a bitch is tougher than he looked.” There was a fresh bloodstain on the left of his angel wings, right above his shoulder blade.

Paul moved closer, while Sasha and Abraham peered over his shoulders to look at the unmoving body of T, lying there with a pale face and twisted neck. “Did he cut you?”

“A little.” He turned around again to look at Sasha’s and Abraham’s stunned and grinning faces, but his eyes locked with Paul. “What a bunch of assholes.”

Paul snorted, fishing in his coat for the rag, pressing it onto Daryl’s cut. “Let’s get you fixed up at home.”

Daryl nodded, not saying anything about Paul’s mindless mention of home. He felt giddy, relieved, just like Sasha, but he was sure she wasn’t burning up with the urge to press Daryl against the truck and attack him with her mouth. Paul dropped his hands hastily again, before he could do something stupid. 

They slowly got back into the truck, still a bit dazed, but ready to head back to Hilltop. Abraham gave a burned black ball that once could have been the skull of greasy salesman a last look. “Nibble on that”, he muttered. Paul couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not really new surprises here, but I liked this scene so much in the series!


	8. The Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long day ends with an emotional rollercoaster for Paul. Especially when he hears something he thought he never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I won't be able to post another chapter soon I thought about giving you an extra long one ahead of time ;-)
> 
> Warnings for fluff and sappy Feelings.

When they got back, Hilltop was in an uproar. Paul’s heart plummeted in his stomach and he was out of the truck in no time with the others. People ran around everywhere, no one was tending to the crops or animals. The gate had been manned, but they were just waved in without further questions.

Tara came jogging over to them. “What the hell is going on?” demanded Abraham to know at the same time as Daryl shouted: “Who is it?”

To Paul’s surprise, Tara laughed. “No, no, it’s not like that!” She still grinned and the four of them stared at her like she was right out of her mind. “These people from Oceanside showed up. Tess and Stuart?” She looked at Paul for a quick confirming nod. “Apparently, they’re going to be parents in a few months and came over to announce the news with some awesome-looking lobsters. God, when you see them … I can already smell lemon and garlic sauce! The cook, Mary? She too said they are worth a real feast and Beth mentioned that Maggie and Glenn should celebrate their marriage as well, since they never had a real party. Well, it somehow escalated from there.”

Paul raised his eyebrows.

Tara sobered up a bit, looking at their exhausted faces. “Everything alright? How did the trip go?”

“Got a ton of weapons as well as medical supplies. Ran into some dickheads, though.” Daryl still eyed Tara as though the woman grew a second head. 

“Any problems?”

Abraham snorted. “Not anymore. Daryl blew them up.” That earned Daryl raised eyebrows, who just shrugged in return as though it was no big deal. “The fucker said something about someone called Negan. That they now owned everything. Bunch of bullshit, if you asked me.”

“Where’s Rick?” Daryl asked.

“Over there, trying to reign in the folks that are fussing over Judith.” Tara smirked again. Daryl nodded and walked over. 

“Hey, don’t forget to show up at Carson’s!” yelled Paul as his eyes caught the dark bloodstain on Daryl’s back again. Daryl waved dismissively without turning back.

“He really blew up some dudes?” Tara whispered astonished.

“Abe found a RPG”, answered Sasha. 

“No way! Really? Such a shame I missed that! God, it’s so _Daryl_! But what happened to your face then, Jesus?”

Sasha squirmed still a bit abashed. “I hit him in head with a car door, because I though he was a walker.”

“You did not!” Tara gaped at her.

“She did”, piped up Paul, grinning at Sasha to ease her worried glance. “Don’t get near her, while she has anything larger than a cotton ball in her hands, I tell you. She has a kickass backhand.”

Sasha nudged Tara in the shoulder, grinning thankfully at Paul. “Come on, we’ll unload.”

Tara threw an arm around her shoulders, moving to the back of the truck. Leaning back over her shoulder she stage-whispered to Paul: “You’re such a lucky bastard, Jesus. Apart from your panda-look, of course.”

Bewildered, he stared after the two women. What did that suppose to mean? Beside him, Abraham sniffed. “Don’t bother to understand. Tara is weirdly obsessed with your fake marriage ever since.”

Paul shook his head. This was the most confusing day he had had in a long time, going from being threatened for his life to some unexpected party fuss. In fact, he felt a bit lightheaded. Maybe the door to his head was catching up to him now. “I’ll get Gregory for inventory”, he mumbled.

Inside Barrington House it was thankfully cool and dim. Gregory was in his office, as usual. Paul took the beanie off his head as he entered, stuffing it into his pocket. Gregory didn’t like it when he wore it inside although it really didn’t matter anymore.

“You’re back!” Gregory boomed as he stood from his chair. Some books and papers lay on his desk, but they usually did lie there so Paul wasn’t fooled into believing Gregory actually did work. “What did you find?”

_Oh, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Don’t worry about my head._ Paul barely suppressed a sigh. “Guns, a lot of them.”

“Good, good! We’re finally getting somewhere, aren’t we?”

“We also found some medical supplies –“

“How many of those guns?” Gregory interrupted, trying for his business-tone.

Paul mentally went through their haul. “Fifteen rifles, a dozen semi-automatic, probably twenty guns and an RPG.”

Gregory eyed him critically. “What’s an RPG?”

“Rocket-propelled grenade. Works excellent by the way.”

Gregory’s eyes went wide in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know?”

“Daryl blew up a gang that held us at gunpoint and tried to rob us.”

“Oh, of course!” Gregory threw his arms in the air. He huffed and turned to the window, watching the people getting a party together. “That savage redneck is going to kill us all. The sooner they’re off, the better”, he mumbled.

Paul furrowed his brows. What was Gregory planning this time? He didn’t have the nerve for his scheming, not now. He wanted to peel that bandage off, take a nice warm shower and change into fresh clothes. His head pounded and he just wanted to rest for a second. But obviously Gregory was onto something, something stupid no doubt. “What do you mean?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, Jesus. But it looks like this Ryan and his group –“

“Rick.”

“Hm? Yes, yes. They seem to have fulfilled the deal and now they can leave. They’ve been here long enough.”

“You throw them out?” Paul just couldn’t believe his own ears. And here he had thought Gregory had forgotten about the deal and the limited stay of Rick’s group altogether. Obviously he had been very wrong. He just couldn’t decipher why Gregory choose this moment to recall it again.

“Jesus, we only welcomed them here, because they promised us guns and ammunition. Seems like they got us enough. The deal is fulfilled and you’re going to be a free man again!” He smiled unconvincingly. 

“Gregory, you can’t throw them out! We’re nearing fall, the temperatures are about to drop, they don’t have any supplies to survive the coming winter! They have children with them!”

“Oh please. They survived before. Don’t they speak all day about it? I won’t stand in their way. This Daniel is outside most of the time anyway, along with these others, doing God knows what out there. They enjoy it, Jesus. They’ll survive.”

Paul just stared at him. “You can’t be serious”, he said after a beat of silence.

“Why are you defending them so vehemently, Jesus?” Gregory came several steps into his personal space, but Paul didn’t flinch. “They are dangerous! They are with us – up until now. But they cause trouble among our people. They incite them against me!”

“What? Who does that? Rick?” Paul started to feel angry at Gregory’s imputation. He just wanted a quiet moment to himself.

“No, this … this Margret!”

_Who the hell was Margret supposed to be now?_ Paul stared blankly at Gregory, who stared back with his pale eyes as though he could mentally transfer his worries onto Paul and get his full back-up in the matter. _“Maggie?!”_

“Yes!” answered Gregory impatiently. “She came to me, several times now, talking about improvements for the stables and fertilization and working schedules for people and a lot of other nonsense. She’s trying to take over, Jesus! And now, this party! She uses it to pull everyone onto her side!”

Paul had truly heard enough. “No one is trying to take over. Maggie just wants to help, as they all do. They’re getting involved here, helping wherever and however they can. Yes, even Daryl when _he is outside most of the time,_ because he is out hunting for our people! He gets us meat, Gregory, something we rarely had before! Why am I on their side? Because they are an asset, not a threat. You throw them out, you put us back to square one! It isn’t the weapons we need. It’s the people behind them we need in order to defend this place! No matter how hard we’ll train our people, they’ll never be warriors. Not like them. Yes, they are dangerous. But not for us! Now, if you excuse me, my head hurts and I’m longing for a shower after being out there risking my life as well for our community!”

Gregory gaped at him, but Paul didn’t wait until an answer would tumble out of Gregory’s mouth. He felt battered and tired to the bone and he really, really longed for that shower. He exited the house and strode over to his trailer without a second glance at his heavily pregnant neighbor, a woman named Maria, who he caught walking over to him in his peripheral vision. No, not now. He needed a second for himself, to rearrange his thoughts and get that goddamn shower. Maybe rest his eyes for a second or two.

He just had closed the trailer’s door behind him and breathed in deeply to shake his annoyance at Gregory’s behavior, when someone knocked at it. Paul wanted to tear at his hair. Just five minutes in peace.

Instead, he rubbed his face tiredly and said: “Come on in, it’s open.”

The door opened and Beth peeked into the trailer. “Hey, um, do you mind if we get Maggie ready for the ceremony in here?”

“If you don’t mind me being here as well.”

“No of course not! We only need your kitchen or your couch, I guess. Thank you”, she smiled as she came in, dragging a basket. Maggie followed with Enid, grinning. “Hey. You alright?” She eyed his head for a moment.

Paul had nearly forgotten about the bandage. “Oh, yeah. It’s alright. Sasha thought I was a biter, smashed a car door down on me.”

“Ouch.” Maggie cringed. 

Paul decided to leave it at that. Maggie didn’t need to hear about dickheads on bikes, even if said dickheads were now only ashes in the wind, not on her big day. “So, a party with a ceremony, huh?”

Maggie smiled, her cheeks rosy. “We are already married for a while now, but –“

“But I always wanted to be bridesmaid, so here we are!” interrupted Beth, laughing. She had pulled something from her basket and now gave Paul a long, meaningful look.

“Oh, I’m just taking a shower. You get ready in here!” He quickly grabbed some clothes and dashed out, leaving a giggle of girls behind him. He even thought he heard Enid, which was something. In the bathroom, he quickly stripped out of his clothes and stepped under the warm spray. Sometimes the water was hot enough to steam the little room, but mostly not. Paul loved the water on his skin anyway. Slowly, he relaxed as dirt, sweat and blood were washed from his body, circling into the drain as muddy water.

In his mind, the whole conversation with Gregory replayed itself over and over. How could he do this? They were all in this together and Rick and his group had proven their worth several times now. Paul trusted them. They were capable fighters and although Rick often enough did things his way, they were still with Hilltop. If Maggie came to Gregory, trying to help him manage this place, then Paul didn’t need further proof that they were trying to make themselves a home here. They were all respected here now, even the members that had been eyed with suspicion and skepticism like Eugene, Rosita and Abraham; Rick himself, Michonne. Daryl. 

Fuck, _Daryl._

Why did his thoughts always come back to him?

Paul turned off the shower and stepped out. It didn’t do him any good pondering about someone that he shouldn’t be interested in, not in that way anyway. He wanted Daryl to trust him as an ally, as a friend, because that was what he should be to Paul, fake-married or not. Looking back onto their scouting trips they did together in the past, it did seem as though they were on a good way to be just that. But of course Paul had to ruin that. Of course his body was interested in more.

_There is always more._

Paul shook his head as he pulled on fresh clothes over his still slightly damp skin. His excited heart needed to calm the fuck down at the memory of Daryl standing close to him at the back of the truck, close enough for Paul to feel the warmth coming from him. The wild look in his eyes after he had blown up seven men pointing guns at their heads, ready to do it all over again if they so much as lifted their little finger again. The slight relaxation under Paul’s fingers as he had pressed Daryl’s old rag onto his bleeding wound.

God, Paul was so screwed.

His brain needed a break from this vicious circle of dangerous thoughts, so he was glad that his trailer had been turned into a makeshift hairdresser’s-and-beauty shop with three very excited girls. He had never heard Maggie giggle so much. But on the other hand, there hadn’t been exactly much to giggle about in God knew how long. Maybe this whole party thing wasn’t such a bad idea, a much needed break from their constant struggle to survive in this strange new world.

Paul stepped into the living room-kitchen area of his trailer. Maggie sat on one of his kitchen chairs in a beautiful light green summer dress. Enid leaned against the table, cleaning and getting her nails back into shape. Beth stood behind her, trying to do up Maggie’s hair.

“Oh, Jesus! Perfect, you can help me!” Beth said without looking up from the tangle of hair in her hand.

Paul stepped closer, eying Beth’s work doubtfully. “I might be gay, but I ain’t _that_ gay. I know how to pull up my hair in a bun, but that’s about it with fancy hairdos.”

Beth threw him a quick smile. “You just need to hold the flowers.” She plucked a small basket off Maggie’s lap and pushed it in his arms.

“Do you really –“

“How was the run? Did you get anything of use?” interrupted Maggie.

Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. All three of them were acting strange, too casual as though they tried very hard not to be obvious. He had never attended a wedding; least was part of getting the bride ready so maybe that was the usual behavior?

He pondered what he should tell them or how much, but finally he decided not to keep any secrets if Maggie already asked. “Good. We found a pretty amount of weapons, even some medical stuff. Well, and the truck, obviously. It’ll come in handy if we ever haul in some more logs for the walls.”

“Oh, so no incidents?” asked Maggie sweetly.

Before Paul could ask, Beth held out her hand, focusing on keeping the small braid in Maggie’s hair in place with the other. “Daisy.”

He glanced down at the basket in his arms. It was full of various flowers. He picked a daisy and put it in Beth’s hand. “Uhm, well, there was this gang, stopping us halfway back. They tried to rob us, said our stuff now belonged to Negan.”

He could hear Maggie furrowing her brows. “Who is Negan?”

“No idea. They were about to shoot Sasha and Abraham, but Daryl was quicker. Blew them up that RPG we found.”

“RPG, huh?” She glanced at Enid in front of her, who suppressed a smirk. Alright, something was definitely going on.

“Lavender, five of them.” He handed Beth the flowers, who interwove them with Maggie’s hair and clipped the little braid with a hairpin to her head.

“Who are you going with to the party, Beth?”

Paul blinked at the sudden change in topic. Beth stilled for a moment, before shrugging. “I guess I ask Tony. Ivy.”

“That testosterone-fueled dick that was leering after you?” Paul couldn’t believe his ears.

“Why, he isn’t a bad guy, when he’s not with his friends, a bit shy, actually.” She smirked as she turned around to Paul. “Ivy.”

He pulled out some twines, still not understanding how Beth could trust Tony. “You know he’s after you? Probably tries to, you know …”

“I know.” She didn’t seem fazed by the prospect and it was by no means Paul’s business to begin with, although Maggie huffed, not very amused. “Who are you going to ask?” She plugged at the ivy in Maggie’s hair.

Paul laughed. “I didn’t know this party is some kind of prom, where you ask people to go there with you.”

Enid glanced up at him. “It’s a wedding with a baby party. You usually go there in pairs.”

Paul’s eyebrows shot up. He could count on one hand how many times Enid had spoken to him. They didn’t avoid each other, there just never was the occasion. “Who are you asking?” he shot back.

“Carl.” Enid shrugged when that declaration was followed by stunned silence. She didn’t seem flustered in the slightest, which Paul certainly envied. To be so sure about something. Someone.

“He’s a good guy”, Maggie said softly. “But now, Jesus. Who’s gonna be your date?” There it was again, that tone. Paul’s skin prickled.

“You’re not gonna ask Alex, are you?” Enid shot him a look. 

“Alex? Why would I ask him?” he asked dumbfounded. What was going on here? Why did three women suddenly interrogate him in his own trailer? About _what_ exactly anyway?

Enid shrugged again, starting on the nails of Maggie’s other hand. “You certainly did get along well, as far as I heard. Wasn’t that hard to overhear, by the way.”

Paul felt his stomach twist. The thing between Alex and him hadn’t been exactly a secret, but they didn’t shout it from the rooftops either. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. What had been hard to overhear? Oh God, she didn’t. Did she?

As if sensing his train of thoughts, Enid added in her teenage I-don’t-give-a-damn-because-I’m-a-cool-adult-now voice: “I sometimes saw him going to your trailer, when I climbed over the wall to get out for a bit. Sometimes I didn’t, but then I heard what you two were doing. Trailer walls are thin.”

Seven hells, she did hear him have sex with Alex. Holy fuck. Paul felt the heat creeping into his cheeks. He didn’t know what was more mortifying: that she talked about it in front of Maggie and Beth or that she sounded so goddamn casual about it.

“He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong”, she said, glancing up briefly from the nails, “but you and him don’t fit together. There’s too much of the old world left in him.” It sounded cruel out of her mouth. But weren’t this his own thoughts not so long ago?

“Two more daisies.” Paul had almost forgotten Beth was still doing Maggie’s hair. “You could ask Daryl, since you two are sort-of-married anyway.”

Paul eyed all three of them. So this was the gist of the matter. Unfortunately he still had no clue what the matter exactly was. “I don’t think Daryl would appreciate”, he said slowly.

Beth hummed, tugging the last strands of Maggie’s hair into some pins. Then she said: “All done!” and turned around to look Paul dead in the eye. “I know this marriage was forced on the both of you, but don’t think this is a complimentary ticket to mess with Daryl.”

Paul felt snubbed. “What gave you the impression I would do that?”

“The way you mock him constantly?” Maggie had stood up from her chair, now facing him as well. She looked utterly beautiful with her hair full of flowers and the light dress. Her expression however was deadly serious. “The way you touch him just to get him riled up?”

“Whoa, guys, just a second here, ok? I’m sorry that this all came over the wrong way, but I’m not messing with Daryl! He tells me to fuck off, I leave him alone.” What was wrong today? He was getting the shovel talk from Daryl’s sisters for no reason, because getting the shovel talk would usually involve Paul being interested in Daryl in an intimate way he certainly was not. Or would never act on. Period. He would never impose on Daryl. “Why am I suddenly the bad guy here?”

Maggie’s eyes softened instantly. “You’re not, Jesus. It’s just Daryl had been acting strange lately. And we’re worried.”

Paul arched an eyebrow. “Worried that his gay fake-husband is harassing him?” he tried to tease. 

“You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s been through already.” Beth’s voice was too grave for that comment, even considering that they all went through hell and back these days on a regular basis. “Just, don’t play games, ok?”

Paul still wasn’t sure what this whole conversation was about, other than Beth and Maggie being way more observant and protective than he had thought. “I won’t. Promise.”

Maggie smiled at that, then pulled him into a brief hug, the basket with the flowers uncomfortably squeezed between them. “I know. I trust you.”

+++

Long after the girls had left, now again with giddy smiles on their faces and after a couple more hugs, Paul sat on the couch in his trailer, thinking. So far, this day had been a mess of emotions for him. First, he had been faced with several guns pointing at his head, followed by the dizzy relief of driving away from a charcoaled splotch on the road. Then Gregory and his half-baked ideas. And now, Maggie and Beth getting in a big-sister-mode over Daryl.

It was the last thing that really stuck with Paul. Especially Beth saying: _“You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s been through already.”_

No, he certainly didn’t. But he wanted to. He wanted Daryl to tell him as he had obviously told Beth. He wanted Daryl to tell him how he got so good with a crossbow, where the vest with the angel wings came from, where he learned how to hunt and track. Paul stared at the cloth in his hands. He had washed the blood and sweat out of the rag, now it was slowly drying in his hands. He wanted to get to know Daryl. Who he was, as a person. Not what, judged by his looks or blatant behavior. What had happened to him before the outbreak? What had made him the person he was now? What did he like? What did he think?

God, who was he kidding? If this would still be the old world, the word _dating_ would be appropriate. But in the old world, you weren’t constantly afraid that someone dead would chew your head off. You wouldn’t be fake-married either. You could use a goddamn phone to ask somebody out, avoiding the crucial task of outright asking them face to face.

A knock ripped him from his thoughts. Today, his trailer seemed to be Grand Central Station.

“Yeah?” he called warily. 

The door burst open and Tara stumbled in. Tara had never knocked on his door before, nor set foot into his trailer to seek him out. What was it with today?

“Hey, you ready? Everyone’s already gathered.”

Paul glanced outside, surprised. He hadn’t noticed that it was getting late already, the sky slowly turning into softer tones. “Oh, sorry, coming!” 

He stood up. Tara eyed him critically. “You’re planning to go out in this?”

Paul looked down at himself. He wore clean cargo pants and a soft, but worn black shirt. “Why not?”

“You can’t go to a wedding looking like you just came back from a camping trip. Don’t you have something a little more … dashing?”

_“Dashing?”_ Paul laughed.

Tara sighed. “Where are your clothes?” She already rummaged through Paul’s cupboards and shelves. “Here, try this one.” She pulled out some dark jeans Paul never had seen before and therefore didn’t even know he possessed.

“What, now?”

“Yes, now, slow-cake. And this one.” She threw another shirt at him. “ _Now_ now, as in yesterday, come on!” she ushered him.

Paul did as he was told. He had the feeling that it would be easier to just go with the crazy flow of today. He shimmied in the jeans and pulled on the light blue t-shirt that was too tight for his liking, because it hugged his form and gave away his wiry frame, which made him feel strangely naked. His hair was still damp form the shower and he didn’t want the water to seep into the fabric and turn the thin material almost see-through, so he pulled it up in a messy bun.

“That’s it. I would throw a leather jacket at you to complete the cool-rocker-dude look, but I have none, sadly. Come here”, she added, pulling his wrist already towards her. She knotted something cool around it. “There you are, dashing!” she grinned up at him. “Now, hurry up!”

Paul glanced down his arm. Daryl’s rag was neatly folded into a wide band that now sat snugly around his wrist like a soft bracelet. “Tara, I don’t think this is –“

“Come on, don’t fret. We’re late!” She pulled him with her, mindless of his protest. Paul had no other choice than to follow her. They really were the last, the others already sitting on blankets, stools and chairs facing a little podium made of old pallets decorated again with flowers, colorful ribbons and yet unlit candles. Tara pushed him down somewhere in the back, next to Eugene, who wore something that looked like a necktie.

Julia, who had once been a pastor, stood on the podium, wearing a colorful chain of flowers and holding an old, battered book that must be a Bible. Paul suddenly remembered his own wedding, which had been colorful as well, but the happy air that now surrounded everyone, had been missing. In fact, their ceremony – if you wanted to call it that – was over so fast, he couldn’t even recall it correctly. His eyes quickly scanned the masses before him. Michonne shared a blanket with Judith, Carl and Enid. He saw Abraham’s red hair glowing in the setting sun somewhere to his right.

Julia opened her arms and her voice washed over them: “I am very happy that all of you have come together today to witness the union of two people in love!”

And just like this, Paul was pulled into the festive mood along with everybody else. It was infectious and nobody couldn’t pull away. Maggie looked lovely staying up front in her dress and the little flowers in her hair, smiling warmly at Glenn beside her, who had actually managed to get his hands on a smoking jacket and grinned just as goofily back at his wife. They were showered in more flowers and good wishes, as they walked the aisle together with a glowing Beth and a proud Rick in tow.

Maggie and Glenn tying the knot officially seemed to have boosted everybody else, who was in a committed relationship, because after the first ceremony there followed three more, the last one very spontaneously. Paul grinned as he watched his folks taking the steps and getting wed under the sinking sun. The candles were lit at some point and Julia cited the Holy Book a bit more freely at one point, because it got too dark to read.

After the weddings, Tess and Stuart received the blessing for their unborn child and then the mood really turned merrily. The food was opulent and everyone dug into the lobsters with gusto. There was venison on sticks roasting over the fire, the remains of Daryl’s last hunt. The first potatoes of the year had been mashed, greens in all varieties lined the tables along with salads and bread. Anton and his brother Peter had brought several casks of home-brewed beer and cider and when the stars came finally out everyone was more than a little tipsy. 

The air was warm and pleasant with fireflies buzzing over their heads. People sat together, laughing and sharing stories at the bonfires they had built. Every so often two figures would disappear into the trailers or into the rooms of the house and Paul shortly thought of Gregory. He had attended the meal, but otherwise was absent again. Hopefully, he was pouting alone in his office, Paul really could live without seeing his face again tonight.

He nursed his probably fourth beer, already lightheaded and buzzed. It wasn’t the wisest idea to drink this much after someone had hit you with a door in the face, but Paul felt like he needed the booze tonight. His thoughts were a chaotic heap inside his head and he didn’t seem to get a grip on them and shove them away. Maggie had come over to him at one point, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I’m sorry for earlier”, she whispered. 

Paul held her close for a moment. “Don’t be, you were just making sure your family was ok.”

She smiled at that, giving him a once-over. “Did you change?”

Paul felt himself blush. It probably was the alcohol. “Tara made me. Said I couldn’t go to a wedding looking like an outdoor hippie.”

“Well, obviously, you’re not the only victim.” Maggie kissed him again and dashed off. Paul looked after her, nonplussed by her comment. He fiddled with the band around his wrist, then took a deep gulp of beer. The picnic table behind him creaked as someone sat down at it. Paul turned around and his eyes met Daryl’s. His face instantly broke into the dumbest smile at the sight.

Casually, he walked over, slumping down beside Daryl on the tabletop. “Hey there.”

Daryl eyed him. “Are ya drunk?”

Paul just grinned wider, like a real idiot. “Maybe. A bit. You want some?” He offered Daryl his cup, who took it after a beat. Paul watched as his lips pressed around the rim, taking a sip. “Where have you been?” he blurted.

Daryl gave him a questioning look. 

“The weddings. I haven’t seen you.”

“Were lookin’ for me?”

“Maybe I missed your charming personality.” Paul couldn’t take his eyes off Daryl’s, glinting in the firelight. He again twiddled with the cloth around his wrist to keep his hands busy, since they suddenly felt needless and he didn’t know what to do with them.

Daryl dropped his gaze, following Paul’s fidgeting hand. Heat broke out all over Paul’s body, because Daryl surely would recognize the rag. The rag that Paul wore like a piece of jewelry, like a trophy, like a _promise._ Surely, Daryl wouldn’t like it. But Daryl said nothing, just put the cup down to fish in his pockets, coming up with the battered pack of cigarettes. There were only three left.

“Was on watch, Carol came to take over. Someone has to keep yer drunken asses safe”, he said around a cigarette as he lighted it.

“Oh, did you keep an eye on one in particular?” The heat coiled again in Paul’s stomach as he watched Daryl blow smoke out of his mouth.

Daryl snorted. “Nah. Why? Ya insistin’ or somethin’?”

Paul couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. If he wouldn’t know better, he would say Daryl was flirting back. Because this was what Paul was doing here; flirting. Badly. He plugged the cigarette from Daryl’s fingers, inhaling deeply before handing it back. “No, I don’t think I need to.”

They were sitting close together, Paul turned slightly towards Daryl cross-legged, so their knees were touching. Paul became suddenly aware of how close they really were. Daryl watched him, cigarette in his hand, but not dragging at it. Paul exhaled and the white smoke he had been holding inside his lungs wafted between them for a moment. His hand found the rag around his wrist again.

“Why do ya wear it?” Daryl’s voice was a deep rasp.

A shiver ran down Paul’s spine at the sound of it. He ducked his head, glancing at Daryl from below. “I told you, I like it.” He had no idea why he whispered.

Something warm touched suddenly the skin above his pulse point, tugging lightly at the cloth. Paul’s pulse skyrocketed and his skin tingled with electricity. He dropped his eyes to confirm that, yes, this were Daryl’s fingers touching his wrist ever so lightly, there and gone again too fast. He swallowed. His lungs felt suddenly too small and his blood rushed in his ears.

“Told ya it’s just an old rag.”

Paul lifted his head again, locking eyes with Daryl. He could see those cheekbones in the dancing firelight, his eyes almost black in the night. He had showered, Paul noticed. The grease was gone and his hair looked soft. It was a bit shorter, too, just the bangs usually covering his forehead; they weren’t so frayed anymore.

“You cut your hair.”

Daryl shifted as he dragged at his cigarette again. He hummed. “Was Carol. Said I needed to look decent for Maggie and Glenn. They ain’t gave a fuck, so …”, he trailed off, ducking his head.

Paul’s hand itched to stroke through the shorter bangs on Daryl’s head. “It looks good”, he said softly.

Daryl looked up, locking eyes with him. Paul’s breath hitched, because he just now realized that he could look into them without anything in the way. Daryl had nice eyes, observant and clear.

“Daryl? Daryl!”

They both jerked back as though being burnt. Paul hadn’t even been aware of the fact that he had been leaning towards Daryl and that Daryl had let him. His heart thundered in his chest.

Carl came into view, stopping right before their table. He didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension between Daryl and Paul. “Daryl, uhm, could you watch Judith for a while?”

Daryl stubbed the butt of his cigarette out in the grass. “Sure. Where’s Rick?”

Carl squirmed a bit. “With Michonne.”

Daryl stood up, frowning. “Then why ain’t ya watchin’ her?”

Carl squirmed even more at that question. “Enid wants to show me something.”

Both Daryl and Paul stared at Carl, who now was obviously uncomfortable, but didn’t back off either. “Alright”, rasped Daryl finally.

“Use a condom!” Paul shouted after Carl as he dashed off, just to be a dick. Something whacked him over the head. “Hey!”

“Leave the kid alone”, grumbled Daryl. He took off and Paul didn’t need to think about it. He jumped off the table, trudging after Daryl.

“That was not ok, you know that, Dixon? I already suffered a head injury” Paul quipped, matching his strikes with Daryl’s long ones and rubbing his head for emphasis alone.

“Don’t be a pussy, Rovia.”

Paul grinned and walked close enough to Daryl that their shoulders would occasionally brush. Daryl glanced over to him with narrowed eyes every so often. Paul couldn’t look anywhere else.

They weaved through the people and Paul waved off the shouts from some of them to join them for a beer or a smoke and a chat. When they reached Judith’s blanket, Carl and Enid got to her feet. She wordlessly handed Judith over to Daryl and Judith’s eyes lit up with delight.

“Darry! Darry!” she shouted, grabbing at his scruff. Daryl didn’t seem to mind in the slightest as he tugged her close. Paul was so transfixed by that sight that he didn’t even notice Enid grabbing Carl by the hand and taking off.

“Hey there, Lil Asskicker.”

“Darry fly!”

“Ya wanna fly? Ya sure? Alright.” And with that, Daryl tossed her in the air, not too high, but it send Judith flying and she squealed happily. The way they acted with each other gave off that this wasn’t the first time they had done this. Judith trusted Daryl and Daryl was relaxed around her little self and sure how to handle her. Knowing Daryl mostly as the standoffish and surly hunter, this was a totally different side of him. He smiled, he honest to God _smiled_ at Judith, warm and affectionate. Paul’s stomach twisted into a knot and his heart stuttered at the sight.

Daryl caught Judith, holding her with outstretched arms over his head while she gibbered happily down at him. Daryl’s vest rode up a notch with the movement and suddenly it hit Paul. The patches on the back of the vest couldn’t have been more accurate. Because Daryl had a heart bigger than the fucking Dixieland.

“Come on, Lil Asskicker, enough for today. Let’s tug ya in.”

Judith sat on Daryl’s arm, blinking tiredly over his shoulder at Paul. She made grabby hands but without much enthusiasm. Daryl turned around to Paul, the muscles in the arm he held Judith with strained and powerful. Paul felt heat rush down south at the sight. Fucking alcohol.

He snapped his eyes up, meeting Daryl’s. “I’ll go and …” He jerked his head towards the house, where Paul knew Rick and Michonne had a room with Carl and Judith now.

“You think that would be wise? You don’t know what you might walk in to. Rick after all thinks Carl watches her.”

“I ain’t let her sleep out here”, Daryl drawled.

“You could crash in my trailer”, Paul suggested. And where the hell did that come from? “I’ve got a bed and a couch.”

Daryl eyed him warily as though he wanted to make sure Paul was serious about this. He was. He had never been more serious in his life. “Ok”, he rasped finally as Judith yawned heart-meltingly in his arms.

“Ok.”

As they walked over to his trailer, Paul caught Alex looking over to them. He couldn’t decipher the expression on his face, but his cheeks flushed nevertheless. He knew what this looked like, but they had Judith with them, for God’s sake! 

Paul didn’t glance back as he opened the trailer and walked inside with Daryl in tow. He became aware of the mess inside, clothes and books spread everywhere, the kitchen wasn’t cleaned up and there were still flowers in the basket on the table. Neither Daryl nor Judith seemed to mind though. Daryl put her down on the table so she could entertain herself with the flowers in the basket.

“Ya got somethin’ for her to sleep in?”

“Probably not, but I’ll see what I can get her.” Paul rummaged through the piles of his clothes. After a while, he found a black shirt that was definitely not his, because there were frills at the seams. “Here, it’s probably more like a giant dress for her, but –“

_Achoo!_

Paul almost jumped at the sound. Judith held a yellow flower in her hand as she sneezed again, snot running down her little nose.

“Gimme that, honey”, Daryl said softly, prying the flower from her fingers. She sneezed again, sending snot all over the table and Daryl. He reached blindly for the back pocket of his pants, but there was nothing, so he just rolled down the sleeves of his black shirt, wiping gently at Judith’s face.

“Here”, Paul said, giving Daryl one of his bandanas he had quickly wet in the sink. He laid the shirt for Judith next to her. “You can have the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”

“Ya sure?”

Paul felt his skin tingle under Daryl’s eyes that were still soft. This felt too intimate, standing in his trailer and taking care of Judith like that. He swallowed. “Yeah. It’s more comfortable for both of you. Room’s over there.”

“Alright.” Daryl picked up Judith and her new giant dress, the wet bandana pocketed in his trousers where once the red rag had been.

“Goodnight, Judith.” She blinked sleepily up at Paul. “Goodnight, Daryl.”

Daryl stood there a second longer, staring at him as if trying to solve a puzzle. But Paul felt oddly naked under his gaze, like an open book. He tugged at a loose strand of hair, but didn’t break their eye contact. They were just the most profane words in the world, but right now they weighed more than the moon.

Finally, Daryl stepped away, hoisting Judith higher against his chest carefully, so her head could rest on his shoulder. “Night, Paul.”

Paul still stood next to the kitchen table long after Daryl had softly closed the door of the bedroom. His heart didn’t seem able to calm down, it was thundering in his chest like crazy and the heat in his stomach coiled and wriggled again like … like … 

_Paul._ For the first time, Daryl had called him Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Tara is also a solo fighter on the same-sex-relationship side of things, I think she would help Paul in every way possible ... Sorry, that's my head-canon :D


	9. The Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone pays Hilltop a visit, who should have stayed far away from that community.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case, I have added a few tags and upgraded the rating. If I should add more/different tags, please let me know.

“I wouldn’t eat that.”

Paul glanced up from the berries he had eyed hungrily to Daryl’s back. “What? You don’t even know what I’m looking at. Maybe I was checking out your lovely behind.”

Daryl turned around, raising an eyebrow unconvinced. “Ya been rufflin’ through these bushes ever since we came across them.”

Paul let go of the dark berries and strode forward to meet Daryl’s pace. The air was crisp and their breaths came in white huffs from their mouths and noses. It was early fall by now, probably September, with cool nights and warm days. Everyone in Hilltop worked hard to reap their crops and make sure that they would last the winter. Sure, it was Virginia and not Alaska, but the winters nevertheless would be hard. They needed to survive with the food they had gathered during the summer, because runs in fast dwindling daylight would be dangerous and the weather probably wouldn’t allow to hunt much. Everybody was in overdrive, harvesting as much as possible, preserving what wasn’t eaten immediately, drying meat, collecting clothes, blankets and sturdy boots as well as much firewood as they could find. Paul had been on runs almost constantly for the last three weeks, only resting a night or two at Hilltop to set off again the next day.

Having Rick’s group around helped a great deal. Their official stay was long over, but Gregory had tried to argue with Paul about that matter only once with the same outcome as before. Then he had tried to announce renegotiations with Rick and the people of Hilltop had just given him blank stares before continuing with their work (which now included several of Maggie’s improvements). Gregory had huffed and grumbled, but he didn’t say anything on the matter again.

Paul was glad that Rick and his group had decided to stay. Although sometimes people clashed, Paul felt that Hilltop was safer now than ever. But this wasn’t the only reason, although he tried to ignore the little voice inside his head that insisted that the real reason Paul was glad Rick and his group still stayed wore a leather vest with angel wings. To be honest, Paul had expected that the trade-marriage would be broken off, as soon as it became apparent that Rick’s group now was included into Hilltop’s population. But no one came. Not Rick, who was too busy securing the place and making plans with Maggie, how to get the most out of their harvests. Not Maggie, who was on top of everything else now two months pregnant. Not Carol or Tara or Beth or anybody else. Not Alex, who still gave Paul weird looks sometimes, and least not Gregory, who seemed to have forgotten the marriage all together. 

But most importantly, not Daryl either.

After their night in the trailer with little Judith, something was tense between them. Like they were stuck somewhere and didn’t know how to deal with themselves around each other. It wasn’t awkward per se, but Paul had the feeling that there was a giant elephant in the room and he wasn’t able to see it. He compensated it with teasing and bickering with Daryl, because that seemed to be the only way he was able to talk to him. He snuck random shit he would find on his solo runs into Daryl’s pockets to watch his reaction when Daryl would finally find it. He deliberately would misunderstand Daryl and answer with explicit innuendoes just to see Daryl flush and fluster. But he would also bring him pinion feathers of a dead buzzard he once had found for Daryl’s self-made bolts. Or oil for his crossbow he had found in an old sport’s equipment store. Or the thick flannel shearling jacket Daryl was wearing right now.

It was just so fucking confusing that Paul sometimes didn’t understand himself. Daryl confused him, but Daryl also made him feel safe, especially when it was only the two of them on runs together. He liked having him around, his unwavering presence and grounding grumpiness. 

In Daryl’s back pocket now swung the black paisley bandana, Paul had given him the night Judith had sneezed all over the kitchen table in Paul’s trailer. Paul tried not to give that too much thought. He still wore Daryl’s rag like a bracelet around his wrist, though. 

“What are these berries?” Paul asked when he was at the same height with Daryl.

“Nightshade. Could kill ya.” Daryl scanned the woods before them, crossbow at the ready. Paul followed his gaze. Something red flickered through the brown and golden leaves of the trees around them.

“Think that’s one of them?” Paul asked quietly.

“Dunno. Have ta find out, I guess.”

Paul hummed.

A couple of days after the big wedding party, Rick had come over to him with Daryl, face serious.

“I was thinking about the guy you told us about. This Negan”, he had said. Daryl had chewed at his inner cheek, avoiding Paul’s eyes.

“What about him?” Paul had asked.

“Daryl was thinking that the guys you met at that gas station maybe were also part of this Negan group.”

Daryl had glanced up at that. “They didn’t look like people on the move. Too clean. Too less stuff. Hair’s been tidy. They had a settlement. What if they’ve been with that Negan, too?”

Paul had lowered the bag he had been holding in his hand. He had thought about the bikers as well, but honestly had completely forgotten about the two weird guys at the gas station. “You think they belong together? Well, they certainly weren’t as trigger-happy as the other assholes on the bikes.”

“Either way”, Rick had answered. “There must be another settlement around here. Maybe they’re decent people, but most likely they’re not. We need to find them, find out who they are. What they want. Who this Negan is. Maybe we can establish more trade like we already have with Oceanside. If not, well, maybe we have to prepare ourselves that we have to defend these walls one day.”

Rick had looked grim as well as Daryl and to Paul it had been clear that he had been speaking from past experience. It had made Paul’s stomach uneasy, thinking about having to defend Hilltop against more people like the greasy salesman on his bike with his friends. But what Rick and Daryl had been saying was only logical. They needed to find out if there were other settlements around them and if so, if they were well-meaning or not. Unfortunately it was probably the latter.

So Paul and Daryl had been on scouting trips looking for any traces of other communities or anything that would tell them more about Negan. So far, the guy in the red poncho they had been tracking for about three miles now, was the first person they encountered. Paul couldn’t decide if this was a good or a bad sign.

“C’mon.” Daryl gestured with his crossbow and Paul followed quietly. The first few days tracking with Daryl had been especially tense. Daryl had been grumpier than usual and Paul had already asked himself what he had said to piss the man off so thoroughly, until Daryl had snapped and asked how someone so nimble like Paul could make such noise walking on the forest floor. Paul had been baffled, because he was pretty sure to walk very quietly. He had been so wrong. The next days consisted of Daryl showing him how to walk and not waltz like a rhinoceros, how to read tracks and broken twigs and which plants best not to touch. Daryl had been strangely closed off when he pointed out poison ivy, so of course Paul had pried the story about little Daryl and his itchy ass out of him. It still made him grin, but at night Paul’s thoughts wandered to the disturbing part of that story. An eleven-year-old boy, lost in the woods for days with no one looking for him. No one actually noticing his absence. It twisted Paul’s heart to think about the life Daryl must had led. Not that Paul himself had been a privileged brat either. But at least there was always someone looking after him on way or the other. Daryl’s story though made him sad. In the same moment, it astonished Paul again and again that Daryl still had become the person he was and that the neglect he had clearly endured wasn’t able to extinguish the goodness of his soul.

Paul followed Daryl through the trees, although the red spot had vanished again. Paul wanted to groan in annoyance. Every time they caught a glimpse of the man, he was gone when they tried to get closer. So far, they had found four of his little campfires, long gone cold.

“How do you know all this stuff about plants and hunting?”, he asked to distract himself from the frustrating chase.

“Our Grandpa taught us. Pa wasn’t much into crawlin’ through bushes, he always said. Liked to sit in front of the fuckin’ TV all day instead.”

There was a bitterness in Daryl’s voice that Paul could translate too well. “Who’s we?” Paul didn’t know if asking so much personal questions would backfire, but Daryl merely looked pissed or uncomfortable right now.

“Merle. My brother. Guy was gone most of the time, joined the army. But when he got back, we went out huntin’. He showed me a lot of stuff he learned from his time on mission. Besides that, he was just an asshole. I never did the other stuff he learned there, though.”

Paul watched Daryl shift and eying him with a sideways glance back. Whatever the other stuff was, it wasn’t something Daryl considered _alright_. Probably drugs or gambling. But before he could ask and dig deeper, Daryl turned their tables. “What about ya? Ya never tell anythin’ about yerself.”

Paul bit his lip, because it was true. He walked beside Daryl in silence, thinking about what to tell or how much. Daryl didn’t press, didn’t huff annoyed, didn’t throw him pointed looks. He did nothing to wiggle an answer out of Paul. He just was there, ready to listen to any bullshit that Paul decided to share and that really was what it took.

“I grew up in a group home, but you already know that, I guess. I never knew my father. I don’t even know if my mother did. Anyway, I grew up with her barely able to make it. She was … she was a runaway, never told me, why or where the rest of her family was. I guess I was too young then. She worked a lot so I could get new shoes and a warm coat in winter, while her own things just got older and thinner.” Paul paused. His chest suddenly felt tight as it hadn’t in a very long time. God, when was the last time he had thought about his mother?

“Ya don’t have to –“, started Daryl quietly, but Paul shook his head. He wanted Daryl to know.

“She always worked late into the night at some diner, after her job as a secretary in some real estate agency. One night, though, she didn’t get home. It happened sometimes, that she was away a night. But she would always make sure to check in on me the next morning. This time, though, it wasn’t her at the door. It was the police. They had found her in some ally, not far from the diner. She-she had been raped and then killed. Strangled to death. I was seven. And with no family around, there was just the group homes for someone like me. I wasn’t an easy kid, as you probably can guess.” He glanced up quickly with a half-smile on his lips. Daryl was already looking at him with a strange expression on his face, but he snorted and glanced away as their eyes met.

“Yeah, guess so. Was probably annoyin’ as fuck.”

“I was. Got into so much trouble. I was arrested once for running around naked through the main streets. There was a hell of a fuss afterwards and so much scolding and I was grounded for, like, three months in a row, but Bobby the little dickhead owed me fifty bucks, so it was totally worth it!”, Paul laughed, remembering the moment with a rush of fond embarrassment. “Then there was the time, Wendy and I just hopped on a train and got to New York. It was the best time in my life! We went to parties we shouldn’t have been to, because we were only seventeen, and we got so drunk I still can’t remember much of it. But I do remember losing my virginity there.” 

Paul wiggled his eyebrows at Daryl’s red face and grinned. “God, I don’t even know why I chose this guy, he was a head smaller than me, but, God, he was built like a brick house!”

Daryl huffed and rolled his eyes, but Paul could see the redness of his cheeks and ears, even as Daryl turned away. He instantly felt a bit sorry for making him squirm like that, but only a little bit. Daryl had asked, after all. “Do you want to hear more of it?”

“’bout ya and yer bed stories? Nah, I’m good.” 

Paul felt bad as soon as the words had left Daryl’s lips. He had done that a lot, lately. Rubbing the fact that Paul liked to have sex with guys right into Daryl’s face. He didn’t even know, why he did that. Because he wanted Daryl to be jealous? About what? What did he expect Daryl to do anyway? Declare his undying love for him?

“Wasn’t even that good. Guy didn’t really care about proper preparation before shoving his dick into me.” _God, Rovia, stop talking!_

Daryl didn’t say anything to this, just trudging forward with Paul at his heels. His shoulders were a tense set and Paul congratulated himself for fucking up spectacularly. He tried to come up with something to say, but his mind was blank for once. He almost ran into Daryl, when he stopped abruptly and peered through the branches of the trees. Paul scanned their surroundings as well, but saw nothing amiss. 

Then he glanced back to Daryl, opening his mouth to say sorry, but got distracted by the way Daryl bit at his lip. The beauty mark danced with the motion.

“’m sorry ‘bout yer Ma”, Daryl said quietly, still looking out in the woods.

“It’s – thank you, Daryl. I’m sorry, I bragged on about this stupid shit with that guy.”

Daryl looked at him from behind his fringe with a strangely guarded expression. “He was an asshole treatin’ ya like that.” Before Paul could say more to that, he set off again and Paul needed to catch up quickly. They still didn’t talk much on their way, but the uneasy atmosphere was gone, the silence comfortable and even relaxing.

They were trotting through the forest for maybe another hour, when something caught Paul’s attention out of the corner of his eyes. He stopped, studying the space between the trees. “Daryl”, he called softly, not taking his eyes off the faded sign. He felt warmth as Daryl stepped up close to him, squinting through the trees as well. 

“Miller’s Cannery”, he rasped, close to Paul’s ear. A shiver ran down his spine at both the closeness and the deep rumble. The urge to press Daryl against hard surfaces and kiss the hell out of the guy hadn’t subsided ever since the RGP-incident. On the contrary, it had gotten worse. Daryl fixing one of Hilltop’s cars in the burning sun with sweat and grease all over his arms? Paul wanted to press him against the hood and run his hands over those muscles. Daryl coming dripping wet inside Barrington House while outside raged a summer storm? Paul wanted to push him into the next wall and grind against his wet body. Daryl taking down biters while scouting in the woods with blood splattered to his forehead? Paul wanted to shove him against a tree and fisting his hands in Daryl’s now again longer hair. Daryl sitting by the forge, making crossbow bolts? Daryl coming through the gates with a deer or rabbits in his arms? Daryl fixing one of the trailer’s roofs? Daryl leaning against a picnic table, smoking and _talking to Carol?_ Every. Single. Time.

He didn’t know, what was suddenly wired wrong in his brain. Daryl still was not the type he would get hot all over for. He hadn’t changed one iota and his lips still didn’t look like those plush kissable ones of guys Paul had fantasized about from time to time. But Paul wanted to know how they felt like under his own. If they were warm and soft nevertheless.

Paul was losing his goddamn mind. 

He tried to play it down and keep his distance, riling Daryl up with lewdly comments so he would get the stink eye or the finger. It usually worked. But sometimes, he hardly kept it together.

“You think it’s worth a look?” he asked to distract himself. 

Daryl shifted beside him, which didn’t help. “Dunno. Could be helpful, but we would lose the guy’s tracks.”

Paul tried to think rationally. “You really think we could catch him?”

“Probably. In a couple o’ days.”

“It would be a shame to not at least take a look here first, though. If we’re lucky, there are tons of canned goods here. Everything that helps us through the winter would be very welcome.”

Daryl was silent for a while. “Alright. Let’s have a look.”

They carefully made their way over to the abandoned premises of the cannery. The chain link fence still looked intact and in good shape. No biters lurked behind or around it, which was a relief. Three trucks, five trailers and a handful of cars stood in the parking lot. 

“Just imagine all of them packed to the rim”, whispered Paul, eyeing the trucks and trailers in the loading bay. He wondered shortly why no one had looted the place, but it was so far off that probably no one had stumbled upon it. Daryl grunted and pulled the gate open wide enough to walk through. His crossbow was raised, but still nothing stirred. Quickly they scanned the place, splitting up to check in the corners and behind vehicles if someone or something waited in the dark to attack them from behind. But the place was eerily empty.

Paul hopped onto the loading zone and sheathed his knife. Daryl was behind him, eyeing the closed doors of the trailers. “Wanna see what we got here?” Paul asked, eyes gleaming. Hell, if this was another jackpot just like the truck at the gas station had been, Paul would definitely ruffle Daryl’s hair this time. Without waiting for Daryl to answer, he pulled up the door.

It was the biggest mistake of his life.

The inside of the trailer was crawling with biters. Some were impaled on hooks, missing limps and mutilated, but the majority was shuffling forward, groaning and moaning, with arms outstretched and jaws open. Paul stood there frozen, watching the dead stumble out of the trailer in horror. Distantly, he heard something rattle and clank, but he couldn’t move.

Then, a hand grabbed him by the collar, yanking him back and away from hungry, snapping teeth. “Paul!”

His head snapped around, eyes landing on Daryl. Behind him, Paul could see that the other two trailers facing the loading bay’s doors were now open as well, spitting out even more biters. Before Paul could full-out panic, Daryl shoved him off the loading zone and between the trailers, away from the dead. They dashed out, the gate in focus, which was just a few yards away. 

“Shit!” cursed Daryl and he reeled back, shoving Paul behind him. The once empty parking lot was now crawling with biters. Where the hell did they all come from? And why had the asshole, who had managed to lure them all into the trailers in the first place, not written some kind of warning somewhere?

Paul spun around and drove his knife into two biters. Then Daryl’s hand was pulling him under one of the trailers. They lay there, chests heaving as they watched the sheer endless amount of feet dragging over the ground. How many were there? Fourty? Fifty? They never could win against a horde this big.

Daryl suddenly moved next to him, grabbing a chain that lay under the trailer and probably had once been used to tow something heavy. “What are you doing? Daryl!”

But Daryl was already out again. Paul robbed over, ready to jump out as well. If the biters got Daryl, he would never forgive himself. He crawled out just in time to see Daryl swing the chain like a lasso and beheading three biters at once with it.

“Come on!” he barked, holding out his hand for Paul to grab. They sped off through the gap the three biters had created when slumping down. Instantly they were swarmed and Paul plunged his knife into skull after skull, but the masses wouldn’t lessen.

“Over here, c’mon!” Daryl shouted, working his way over to one of the cars. Paul followed, kicking at dead bodies and lashing out to fend off dead, clawing hands. He practically dove into the car, slamming the door shut. Already a biter had stuck its head between the door and the car, trying to bite into Paul’s shoulder. He pulled at the door handle again and again, smashing the skull against metal until it was only a pulp dripping off metal. Finally, the door closed and Paul slumped into the seat.

Dead hands banged against the windows and rotting grimaces peeked inside, howling loudly. 

“Shit, what was that?” Paul’s heart was hammering in his chest and his hands shook.

“Fucking booby trap”, Daryl heaved. 

Paul glanced over. “You alright? Did they get you?”

“Nah. You?”

Paul shook his head. They sat in silence for a second, trying to calm their breaths and racing hearts. “We need to obscure the windows”, Paul mumbled, pulling the glove compartment open. Daryl twisted in his seat to search the backseats for something useful. The glove compartment was empty, safe for a broken pencil and a crumbled yellow voucher. Paul was about to throw it away, when his eyes fell on a red handwriting on it. _Don’t stay._

Thanks, how awfully helpful. Paul tossed the voucher aside. “There’s nothing in here!” He tried not to sound panicked, but his voice pitched too high to his own ears.

Daryl turned around. “Couple of hours until they break in. We gotta make a plan.”

Paul nodded, running a hand over his face. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on checking this place out, we would now be following Red Poncho.”

“Hey, ain’t yer fault. Ya didn’t put them walkers inside those trucks.”

Paul let his hand sink and glanced at Daryl. “But –“

“No, ya listen, Paul. It ain’t yer fault, alright?”

A weak smile spread across his lips. “I like it, when you say my name.” _Really, Rovia, now?_

Daryl stared at him. His bangs had grown again and hung in his eyes. The stubble on his chin was maybe a bit greyer than when Paul had first met him.

Daryl huffed and broke their gaze. “’s yer name after all.”

“But you’re one of the few that call me by my name. I like that. I like _you_.” For fuck’s sake, what was he doing here? Were biters pounding on the car he was sitting in now the signal to spill all his secrets to Daryl, because he probably would never get the chance again? And what if the answer to that question was yes?

Paul inhaled shakily, never taking his eyes off Daryl, who looked up again, cheeks pink. Paul fumbled for the rag around his wrist. “I never thanked you for saving my ass, when those bikers stopped us.”

Daryl shrugged. “Was nothin’. Everyone would’ve done the same.”

“Maybe. But it was you saving us. Saving me. I never told you I didn’t regret being married to you, either. I probably was an asshole, and I’m really sorry for that. You’ve been great and I sure as hell was a lucky bastard.” He smiled as he remembered Tara saying those words to him about Daryl. He had the feeling that he now understood what she had meant then.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him and leaned a bit forward. “What the fuck ya think yer doin’, Rovia?” He looked flustered, but Paul could tell that he had seen through Paul’s plan. “Yer not goin’ out there!”

“Daryl, the glass won’t hold forever and I rather try to get you out of here than sit and wait until they come inside. Quid pro quo.”

“Dunno what that shit’s supposed to mean, but yer not goin’ out there, throwin’ away yer life for my sorry ass! You owe me nothin’, Paul!” Daryl was in his face, fuming and jabbing an angry finger at his chest. Paul’s breath hitched. Daryl’s face was so close, he could see the intense blue color of his eyes. He had never noticed that before. “Yer not dyin’ out of some bullshit heroic whim. _You ain’t._ ”

Paul opened his mouth to say that yes, for Daryl he would do just that, like he had for Paul, when suddenly something smashed against the right side of the car. A rotten skull exploded, splattering gore everywhere. Paul and Daryl froze, startled by the sudden change. Then another skull caved in. And another. 

Paul and Daryl shared a quick glance, drawing their knives. “Ok, on three”, said Daryl, grabbing the door handle. “One, two –“ 

The door was yanked open before Daryl could count further. “Get them, D! Morone, will you just move those freaks back inside already!” a voice yelled over the agitated groaning of the dead. Before Daryl could do more than stab one biter in the eye socket, Paul’s door was yanked open as well and two biters dropped to the ground with holes in their heads. Paul quickly got out, plunging his knife into another skull, looking for their rescuers. Daryl was on the other side, stabbing a biter, when Paul heard the distinctive klick of a safety drawn back and felt cold metal against his head.

“Drop the knife.”

“You too, angel boy.”

Paul’s eyes searched Daryl’s. Behind him Paul could see three people with guns, drawing the biters back into the trucks again, while a forth with dangling dirty blond hair pressed a pistol into Daryl’s temple. Paul knew that he must look the same.

“Now!”

Paul dropped the knife. He contemplated burying his elbow in the man’s stomach, as a shot rang through the air and Daryl cried out in pain.

“Daryl!”

“What the fuck, D! What are you doing?!” A man came closer, big and mean-looking.

“He tried to fight, the asshole!” Dangling Blond yelled back. “Don’t worry, it’s just his shoulder!”

Paul was pressed against the car roughly by a warm and smelling body. “Don’t do anything stupid or I will do the same to you”, hissed a voice into his ear. “Hands up and turn around, nice and slowly.”

Paul gritted his teeth. Daryl was slumped against the car, holding his shoulder in an already bloody hand, but still conscious. Their eyes met. He shook his head slightly at Paul. Paul huffed, then turned around slowly. The man behind him was haggard with greying hair. His lopsided smile uncovered yellow, crooked teeth. Anger, so hot and heady that it robbed Paul’s breath for a second, scolded down into his chest. He wanted to punch this guy in the face, kick his balls in until they would come out of his mouth again to choke him.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, pretty boy. Nothing won’t happen to him. Not yet anyway.” His grin widened, then he motioned with the gun. “Get over there. Into the car.”

Paul slowly walked forward. The biters were almost all secured inside the trucks again and the trap set anew. Some men cleaned the premises of the fallen biters until the place looked again untouched and harmless. Paul wanted to scream.

These assholes! Setting up a place like this was beyond lowest of the low. The shitty fuckers just waited until someone would open the trucks again to collect them like ripe apples. 

“What are you doing with us? Where’re you gonna take us to?” he seethed.

“Shut your pretty mouth.” A gun was shoved roughly between his shoulder blades and made Paul stumble a step forward. “Get in.” He was pushed into a black SUV. Yellow Teeth followed him, still grinning like a loon and Paul wanted to kick his teeth in so badly. 

“You too, hurry!”

Daryl was shoved inside the car, clutching is bleeding shoulder. He landed beside Paul, grunting in pain at the contact. Dangling Blond followed and – Paul barely suppressed the urge to roundhouse kick him in the head. The guy held _Daryl’s crossbow_ in his hands, pointing it towards them. 

Instead, he ripped his beanie from his head, pressing it over Daryl’s shoulder. “You alright?” he asked quietly.

“Hey, no talking!” Something cold collided with his cheek, then the barrel of the gun was pressed against his temple again. “You better keep quiet, too, Angel Boy, or I’ll gift your friend with a nice, bloody third eye!” Paul could feel the hatred coming off Daryl in waves, but he said nothing, just leaned into Paul.

The drive never seemed to end. The road first was bumpy, then smooth for a while. Paul hadn’t paid any attention to where they were driving, but Daryl probably had. He pressed his hat against the shot wound at Daryl’s shoulder, silently praying that Daryl wouldn’t bleed out in this shitty car. Daryl’s grip on the seat was white knuckled and he was tense like a bowstring, but he didn’t move. He glanced at Paul one time and Paul needed every ounce of willpower he possessed not to lean into and press his forehead against Daryl’s temple. This was neither the place nor the company for such a gesture.

When the car finally slowed down, Daryl looked too pale for Paul’s liking. A gate was opened outside and Paul glanced out of the window, dreading what he would see. It was far worse than anything he could have imagined. They were at Hilltop’s gate.

Paul’s heart was beating too fast in his chest. How did they know where Daryl and he came from? Coincidence? Unlikely. His mind flashed back to the biker gang on the road. How could they have been so fucking naïve? There were people out there that weren’t looking for others to trade with, but to steal from, and they just _dismissed_ it. Only _after days_ they had decided to go out looking and then just Daryl and him. No big search parties. No fanning out in all directions. They had been such idiots.

The gate opened and Paul glanced up the walls. The woman standing there with a rifle wasn’t someone he knew. Who had been on shift today? Kal and Rosita? Oh fuck, where were they? Were they alright?

The car rolled again, inside the walls and Paul felt punched in the stomach. Cars, SUV’s and even a Humvee were parked at the front, doors open and with heavily armed men and some women standing around them, creating a circle around the people of Hilltop.

“On your feet, come on.” The gun whaked over Paul’s head again. He tore his eyes away and glared at Yellow Teeth. The door slid open and Dangling Blond shoved the crossbow into Daryl’s other shoulder, pushing him out of the car. Daryl stumbled as he climbed out of the car and Paul quickly grabbed his arm to keep him upright. Fuck, Daryl had lost too much blood already.

They were pushed through the circle of armed men. Fearful eyes of the Hilltop folk met his. The terror Paul saw in their tear-streaked, pale faces made him sick. Some cried openly, some had split lips and bruises on their faces. But everyone was silent.

“Oh, boys, you’re late for the party!”

Paul’s head snapped up. A wave of nausea hit him so strongly that Daryl needed to grab _him_ to keep him from keeling over.

Inside the circle of armed men and in front of Hilltop’s people kneeled Rick’s group. It wasn’t the blood on their faces but the sheer looks of terror in their eyes that truly frightened Paul. No one had ever seen Rick with naked fear on his face.

“Dwighty-Boy! You finally found these fuckers? Good! Now let them join the little party I have with Rick here!”

Paul stared at the man standing in the middle of the circle. He grinned jovially as though he had the best time of his life. On his shoulder rested a bat, barbed with wire. Bloody wire. That was when Paul saw the figure lying at his feet, a bloody pulp where the head once had been. Who was it? Who was lying there?, he frantically thought, trying to recognize the clothes. It was the way the boots were tied that tipped him off. Double bows, because the laces were too long. Dante.

He was shoved to the ground. Daryl next to him.

“Now, as I said already before you two showed up too late and interrupted us so rudely”, the man said again, swinging his bat to underline his point and sprinkling their faces with a fine dust of blood, “you are kneeling here before me, because my new best friend Gregory here said that you were the troublemakers of his little community. And I do _not_ like troublemakers, you hear me, Rick?”

Paul’s eyes fell on Gregory, who stood silent and pale in the circle beside the man with the bat. The skin under his chin shook with each quick breath he drew in and words tumbled hastily out of his mouth. “Yes, they came to us, about three months ago. They – they set us up with weapons, trying to take over.”

“You lying little shit!” yelled Paul enraged. How dared he? How could he do this to the people that were helping them? How could he be such a gutless little weasel with no honor at all?

“Paul!”, Daryl hissed under his breath.

“Oh, another volunteer!” The man with the bat crouched down before Paul, eyes glistening and an easy smile on his face. He looked totally normal with black hair and a greying three-day scruff.

“Stop it! Don’t! Don’t,” Rick pleaded from across the dirt, where he was kneeling. 

“Oh, Rick, what did I tell you? Begging gets you nowhere. Kneeling gets you nowhere. But looking me in the eyes and saying _Yes, Negan, I’ll accept your outstanding offer_ without that stubborn glint, thinking you could gain the upper hand over _me_. That will. Now, this guy here”, he poked Paul in the chest with the handle of the bat. “Is maybe not part of your group, Rick. But he _is_ a thief, just like this asshole here beside him. Aren’t they, Dwighty-Boy?”

Paul couldn’t breathe. A fear so profound like nothing he had ever felt before closed around his throat. _Negan._ Just like the bikers on the road had said. What a sick piece of shit.

“They look like the ones they described to me. Guy with a crossbow and someone looking like Jesus.” Paul darted a quick glance at Dangling Blond, whose name was obviously even more ridiculous. 

“Fuck you”, Paul spat.

“Oh, as much as I like to do just that, I unfortunately have to decline. Lucille is thirsty, you know, and you just offered her a drink. She isn’t a lady to say no to that.” The man, Negan, suddenly got up again.

Paul heard a yelled “No!” and shrieks of horror, when he saw the bat coming down towards his face. He couldn’t move. He knelt there, staring. The bat would hit him square in the face and all he could do was stare at it.

Something warm crashed into him, pulling him down, out of the way, shoving him head first into the dirt beneath his knees. High-pitched screams and the warmth was ripped off him, landing with a sickening thud on the ground as well. 

“Look at that! What a surprise!”

Paul scrambled up into a sitting position. Daryl lay on the ground before him, blood trickling down his face, eyes closed. 

“No. _NO!_ Daryl!” Paul screamed, because this couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. Why was nobody doing something?!

A bloodied bat pressed against his chest and Paul looked up into dark eyes. He wanted to punch that face in until nothing was left but pulp. He wanted to wipe that smirk off this face and if he did it with his bare hands clawing at the skin. The bat slip up and bit into his chin.

“That was a pretty intense reaction there. I guess, this guy _means_ something to you?”

Paul clenched his teeth alongside with his fists. “He’s my husband!”, he spat.

Negan placed a hand over his heart, his face a mocking mimic of heart-felt understanding. “Touching, really. But you better understand to keep that pretty mouth of yours closed or else Lucille will want to drink the whole glass and then the face of your lovely _husband_ will sport the same lively color as your friend already over there.”

Paul’s chest heaved. His teeth were clenched so tightly, that he couldn’t have uttered a single noise.

“Now!” Negan stood up again. “Where was I? Oh, yes, my friend Gregory.”

Gregory visibly flinched as Negan walked over to him. Paul didn’t pay him any mind. His eyes were fixed on Daryl’s lifeless figure only a feet away from him. He was slowly bleeding out both from the nasty looking head wound and the shot to his shoulder. He was _dying_ and nobody did anything against it.

“We’re going to take half of your shit – today and again later, and again. This is your way of life now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, someone knocks on your door? You will let them in. We _own_ that door. You try to stop us and we will knock it down.” Negan motioned towards Dante’s corpse. “You understand?”

Gregory nodded. “Yes, of course!”

“Wonderful! Now, we only have one problem left. You really think that you will get through this without getting punished, do you? I don’t wanna kill your people, just make this clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can’t do that, when you’re dead, now can you. But you and your looks, Rick! There is still something in your eyes that tells me you will have my ass – _not today, not tomorrow_ – as soon as I turn around and that is _not acceptable_! So, this is all on you then. Everything that happens now is because you don’t understand when it is time to take your tail and tug it between your legs. So, really, you have only to blame yourself for what happens next!”

“No, please, don’t –“

“See, and I don’t believe one word out of your mouth, Rick. You still don’t get it. Not until you see and stop looking at me with those stubborn eyes.”

Paul peeled his eyes away from the sick exchange, when he heard a groan. Daryl. Fear gripped him with ice-cold hands at the sound. No, please not. If Daryl’s eyes were clouded over milky, Paul wasn’t sure he could stand the sight of it. If he had turned into one of these mindless creatures driven by hunger and instinct, he didn’t want to know. But he looked over nevertheless. Daryl’s eyes were white, when Paul looked at him, but bloodshot and turned inwards. Daryl moaned and then passed out again.

Something wet trickled down Paul’s cheeks, burning in the open cut on his cheek where the gun had hit him earlier. His eyes stung. God, was it only hours ago that he and Daryl had walked through the woods tracking a guy in a red poncho?

“So, Rick. I don’t want to come across as some asshole here. You are going to work for me after all and I don’t want to be that sort of boss. Therefore, I let you chose. Who’s it gonna be? Ginger here?” Negan pointed his bat at Abraham, who knelt between a sobbing Sasha and a frightened Glenn. “Flashy Eighties Boy? _Jesus_? Fuck, that’s a name that sticks, that’s for sure!” Negan spun around, walking over to Rick. “Tell me, Rick. Which one will it be? It has to be one, because otherwise you won’t just get it. And I’m really trying for you to see the point here.”

Rick knelt in the dirt, shaking, not saying a word.

“Oh come on, it’s no fun! Tell me, Rick, now! Or I have to choose and you really don’t want that load onto your shoulders!”

“Please, we can talk about this. We could work together –“

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Negan smiled again this disturbing smile that made Paul sick to the bones. “Alright, since it doesn’t seem to sink into your thick skull. Come over here, Rick, come over and _watch_.” Two men pulled Rick up, shoving him towards Negan. Rick stumbled, eyes on Daryl. He quickly looked over to Paul, who shook his head. No, not dead. Yet.

Negan sighed, swinging the bat from his shoulder. “I really don’t want to do this. You all have to thank Rick for this.” He smiled again. Then he walked over to Ed, who was on the far left side of their line-up. Paul hadn’t really looked at the faces before, but he now noticed that it weren’t only the people of Rick’s group. Hilltop’s guards were amongst them as well as Earl and to his surprise, Bertie and Anton.

Negan stood before Ed, who tried not to look frightened to hell, pointing the wired bat at his face. “Eeny”, he said, walking over to Maggie next to Ed, “meeny”, over to Rosita, “miny”, to Carol, who couldn’t take her eyes off Daryl. “Moe.”

Bile rose in Paul’s throat. What sick shit was happening? Why? How? They were armed, how did these goons still get into Hilltop? Why was Gregory standing over there instead of kneeling beside the people that were trying to protect this community?

Negan moved over a larger gap in the rows of the people kneeling before him and Paul knew with sickening clarity that Dante had knelt in that spot before his skull had been smashed in. “Catch. A tiger. By his.” His bat hovered over Carl, before he walked further down the row, tipping off each horrified face with that innocent rhyme. “Toe. If. He hollers. Let him. Go.” Kal whimpered. “My Mother. Told me. To pick.” Glenn shook like a leave. “The. Very best.” The bat hovered over Paul’s face. Negan moved the line back, hovering over Tara next to Paul, then ticking off Glenn again, just to mess with them. “One. And.” Abraham, then two strides over to Marco. “You!” Marco flinched, sobbing. But Negan strode forward again, walking past Anton and Earl to stop in front of Eugene, who was kneeling next to Carl. “Are.”

Paul knew what came now. Rick did too. He howled, loud and so laced with pain and fear that it tore at Paul’s soul.

“It. Sorry, sweetheart.” Negan stroke out, raising the bat high above his head in one fluid motion. It came down with a stomach-turning wet sound as it tore into flesh and bones. Maggie screamed on top of her lungs, barely held back by Rosita. Tara beside him whelped, grabbing blindly at his hand. She shook violently, just like Paul himself. Glenn collapsed, yelling.

The bat rose again, blood and little pieces of bone and something else dripping from it. Long blond strands of hair got entangled in the wire. Another crash as the bat collided with Beth’s skull.

“You bastard!” Abraham was on his feet, lunging at Negan. Bullets riddled him at the same time as the bat bit into his temple, throwing Abraham sideways so violently, he staggered and stumbled and fell to the ground with a thud. 

“I said none of that shit again and yet you are the _second_ breaking the rules!”, shouted Negan, coming after him in long strides. Abraham tried to raise his head. He lay inches away from Daryl as the bat came down again, knocking him over into the dirt. Negan drove the bat into his skull over and over and if he just would take one step to the right, he would smash in Daryl’s head as well. Paul couldn’t watch, but he did. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from the horror. From Daryl. Lying in the dirt, getting spluttered with blood and Abraham’s brain, unmoving.

A sound broke over Paul’s lips, something inhuman. A cold hand grabbed his wrist tighter. Tara.

After what felt like eternity, Negan straightened. “Peh. That was something. But. We did it. All of us. Together. Even the dead guys on the ground! Hell, they get a spirit award for sure!”

Everything was silent, only quiet sobs breaking disturbing it.

“Today was a productive damn day! Now I hope – for all your sake – that you get it now. That you understand, how things work. Things’ve changed. Whatever you had going for you – that is over now. Rick, look at me.” Negan crouched down beside Rick, who looked shaken to the core. “You know it could have been your little boy here. You do _know_ that.” He laughed quietly as if enjoying an inside joke with Rick. “Dwight! Load him up!” He pointed with the bloody bat without bothering to look up.

Paul felt a howl breaking from his throat, as the guy with the dangling blond hair and the fucking scars on his face grabbed Daryl’s lifeless form and hauled him up, practically throwing him into the back of a truck.

“He’s got guts”, whispered Negan loudly into Rick’s ear, who still couldn’t meet the man’s eyes. “Not a little bitch like a someone I know. I like him. He’s mine now. You still wanna try something, not today, not tomorrow? Not today, not tomorrow, I will cut pieces of … uhm, hell’s his name?”

The men around them shifted, until one spoke up, a man with a grey mustache. “Daryl.” Paul felt sick with dread.

“Wow! That actually sounds right! I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep. Or better yet! I will bring him to you and have _you_ do it for me. While he is watching.” The bloodied bat pointed at Paul’s head now. Rick’s eyes met his briefly, but that short second was enough to drain all the strength left in him. He couldn’t do this. He _couldn’t._ Paul had no idea if Daryl was still breathing. If he would survive another trip in a car to God knew where. If he would ever see him again. And if so, Paul wasn’t sure he wanted to, if it was only having to watch Rick cutting off a limb of him.

Negan suddenly leapt to his feet, swinging the bat casually back onto his shoulder, splattering Paul with blood across his face. “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! Gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it for all the crap you gonna find me or grow for me. We will be back for our first pick-up in about a week. Until then – ta ta.”

Paul watched numb and frozen as the people packed up, loading their guns and their goods into their trucks, slamming doors shut and driving off. Leaving behind a broken shell of a once happy community.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, it is canon-typical violence, although I alternated the outcome a bit. I still feel very sorry about it :(   
> Writing Negan is suprisingly fun, btw, although he of course is an utter maniac.


	10. Interlude: The In-Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone copes with the attack of the saviors in a different way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carl's POV

The heat was stifling. It lay sweltering over the House and the trailers, suffocating every noise, and the days dragged like tar. Judith sat in the shade of a tree, babbling happily to herself. Under the brim of his hat, Carl watched her with a twisting feeling in his chest.

It could have been her. It almost was him.

Kneeling in the dirt and watching that crazy bastard – Carl woke up last night to the feeling of Beth’s blood fresh on his face. He didn’t scream. He just woke shivering and gasping, but he didn’t scream. He didn’t go down the hallway to the room, where his Dad and Michonne slept. He didn’t want to put that burden on them.

His Dad already looked at him with haunted eyes. Like Carl was a ghost instead of alive.

He knew that they were … _fucked_. Over half of their supplies gone, all weapons gone. Dr. Carson – the one with the hard lines around his eyes, not the one that was some sort of midwife – gone as well.

Judith squealed at his feet, unbothered by the horrors that just had happened, waving a colorful cloth at him. She grinned mischievously and stuffed it in her mouth, babbling around it again.

The memory of the last time she had done that, burst open before Carl’s eyes like an overripe melon.

_Judith crawls over the porch, pulling Carl’s shirt behind her like a toy. She has recently started to rub her knees raw with robbing over every surface. Carl doesn’t mind her much. The latest comic Jesus was able to bring him back from his last run has captured his whole attention._

_“Hey, Carl, everything alright?” His Dad comes jogging up the stairs of Barrington House._

_“Hm-hm.”_

_Judith squeals as she notices their Dad._

_“Hey, sunshine. What do you’ve got there?”_

_Carl peeks over his comic book. And instantly leaps to his feet. In Judith’s tiny fist is a colorful foil wrapping that should be deep inside his shirt pocket right now. Dad is about to pull it from her fingers, but Carl is faster by a split second. “Sorry, that’s mine!”_

_Dad stares at him doubtfully. “What’s that, Carl?”_

_He starts to sweat. That is a thing he certainly does not want to discuss with his father. His eyes dart quickly around for anything to say. Daryl trudges by, his crossbow swung over his shoulder. “Well, I – Daryl asked me to give him that!” He dashes off before his Dad can say anything else. Shit, that was actually not his plan! But Carl can feel his Dad’s eyes at his back as he runs over to Daryl, who looks at him expectantly._

_“Hey, Daryl.”_

_“What happened?”_

_“Nothing, I just …” He shuffles closer as he tries subtly to press the damn condoms into Daryl’s palm. “Can you keep that for me?” Sweat trickles down his spine again and he is certain is big ears are all red beneath his hair._

_Daryl glances down at his palm. Damn it, just take it!, prays Carl silently. He didn’t run from his father to get the Talk now from Daryl. “The fuck, Carl! Where did ya get that?” Daryl thankfully doesn’t ask about what exactly Carl has planned to do with them. Or with whom. In fact, he looks mildly horrified himself._

_“I asked Jesus, alright? Can you just … keep them for me, please? I don’t wanna talk with Dad about that, okay? It’s just painfully embarrassing.”_

_Daryl eyes the colorful wrapping, then stuffs the two condoms into his vest without another comment._

_“Oh God, thank you!”_

_“Damn prick got you the wrong ones. Don’t need them extra large, boy”, he huffs and flips his fingers against the brim of Carl’s hat, before he is off again, walking towards the gate to go on a hunting trip, Carl is certain._

Carl shuddered as he remembered Daryl. The blow to the head he suffered as he pushed Jesus out of the way. His face streaked red and lifeless as they hauled him up into that truck. 

Daryl was always there, always protecting them from so much. Walkers. People. He had taught Carl to shoot properly with a rifle. It had made feel Carl like a real adult, because Daryl wasn’t condescending or patronizing. He had treated him more like an equal than a kid and Carl had liked that, although Carl had been very wary of him at the beginning. Daryl had been harsh and spiteful, with a mouth dirtier than his looks, making Carl run from his stares alone more than one time. But he had learned that Daryl cared. Deeply, for everyone of them, despite the _Fuck off_ ’s he spat at their faces. He grew to like the man, as a friend, and wasn’t that something weird? Carl wouldn’t have looked twice at Daryl if they still lived their happy, walker-free lives. 

But now, everything was different. Carl was glad that people like Daryl were his family now. Although Carl had always been a bit grossed out that Daryl could skin and eat any animal he killed. Like that owl the one time almost at the beginning. Or the snake he had hunted while he was on the run with Beth after the prison fell.

Fuck, Beth. Carl pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. But another memory burst open, unbidden and unforgiving.

_“Where did you learn it?”_

_“What?”_

_“Singing!”_

_She laughs. “I didn’t learn it. I just liked to play on the piano with my Mum. We often did that, Mum, Maggie and me.” She is quiet for a while, then she adds almost inaudible: “I miss her.”_

_Carl is silent as he scrapes in the dirt around the tomatoes. Suddenly, he misses his own Mum like hell. He tries not to think about it, how he lost her. That dark, smelly room in the prison, walkers roaming outside and Judith choose that moment to come. He didn’t blame her, not one bit, but it still hurts to think of it._

_“Hey,” Beth says softly, dropping some yellow leaves in the bin beside her. “I think she would be proud of you, Carl.”_

_Carl stares at her. Her eyes are kind and warm. He feels shaken to the core, so he drops his gaze as he nods. They work in comfortable silence, plugging weed and the occasional dead tomato twig._

_“Uhm, you … you are a girl, right?”, Carl suddenly asks, because his mind has decided to drift from his dead mother to someone else, wondering if his Mum would be proud of what he is going to ask, going to do as well or if she would disapprove. She would have probably lectured him, but in the end, she would have smiled and hugged him, he is sure._

_Beth glances up. “Yeah …” She draws the word into at least three syllables with a smirk quivering in the corner of her mouth._

_“Well, how … how do you know a girl wants to kiss you?”, he asks, still not looking up._

_Beth drops her tools and settles firmly between the plants. He loves her for it. That she considers his question with such seriousness instead of laughing him off. “Well, first of all, I think that she would smile a lot at you. Not these big, toothy grins, but the small ones. The private ones, that are only for you.” She pauses and looks into the distance. Carl stops the pretense of working and takes a seat across from her, pulling a blade of grass apart. “She probably plays with her hair. At least I do that. And, most important of all, she doesn’t shy away. You know what I mean?”_

_“Well, she doesn’t run.” He chuckles._

_“Yeah, no. I mean, when you get closer to her, right into her personal space? She doesn’t take a step back or turns away. She doesn’t duck her head out of the way. That sort of thing. She’ll probably stay right in front of you. Clearest sign? She licks her lips or she drops her eyes to yours.”_

_Carl hums and thinks of his encounters with Enid. Despite what everyone seems to think, they haven’t done anything. But Carl wants to. He just isn’t sure, Enid wants it, too._

_“Safest way to test it out?”, says Beth lightly. “Kiss her on the cheek or the corner of her mouth first.”_

_He looks at her from below the brim of his hat. She smiles at him, bright and radiant, practically glowing with contentment and happiness. Carl grins back at her, throwing a wilting leaf at her head. She shrieks in mock disgust, showering him with a handful of dirt._

_“Is that a way to treat a girl, Carl?”_

_“No, it isn’t”, Carl grins back, “but a way to treat a sister.” He shoves the hat back into his neck. “Don’t ever tell anyone.”_

_She smiles warmly and resumes to plug at the plants before her, the smile still tugging at her lips._

_God, I miss you_ , Carl thought, rubbing his stinging eyes. He didn’t know why they weren’t doing something. Why his Dad wasn’t turning every stone to find some guns so they could take down the saviors. They had killed Abraham, they had killed Beth! Carl didn’t know Dante very well, but he felt the same rage for his death like for Beth and Abe’s. He wanted to do something, wanted to make plans to get Daryl back. Get their stuff back and kick this Negan in his ass. But Dad was just sitting around, staring at people with slumped shoulders and waiting for the saviors to return and take another load of their stuff.

Even that little worm Gregory was still wandering freely around the grounds, although he didn’t constantly nag about everything after Maggie chewed his head off.

They had buried Dante, Beth and Abe behind the stables of the cow and pigs, although Gregory had thrown a tantrum that they never buried dead inside the walls of Hilltop. Before anybody could get in, Maggie had stepped forward, crowding into Gregory’s face, and said with a dangerously calm voice: “I am going to bury my sister right here and plant an apple tree on her grave, because she would have loved that. My sister, who died, because you were a gutless, spineless, sorry excuse of a man and let those people enter despite Rick telling you not to. Despite everyone’s life on your hands. Now, Dante’s blood is on you as well as Beth’s and Abraham’s. So don’t tell me, where to bury my sister that you helped being murdered!”

That was the last day Gregory had anything remotely to say at Hilltop. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the decency to do them all a favor and leave Hilltop.

Three graves were sitting now at the back of the compound with wooden crosses towering over them. If he squinted against the low sun, Carl could see fresh flowers laid down by the people of Hilltop and his own family, grieving and crying until the hollow emptiness became too much to bear. Carl hadn’t visited once. He couldn’t.

The days dragged by with unusual heat, but the days were short and the nights colder already. 

Nevertheless, people were back to work, digging maniacally into the ground and tending to the new-sown crops. It was an almost fruitless attempt with the winds of fall finally blowing down their necks as time dragged on. Carl didn’t need Daryl’s weather forecasting skills to know that they were running on burrowed time.

One day, his Dad took some people out scavenging for as long as he dared to leave the Hilltop unprotected. They were back to their basic weaponry, spears and knives instead of rifles and guns, so the run didn’t last long enough for any real outcome. They came back with a few cans of peaches and some containers of instant broth.

It wasn’t enough. Not in the least bit.

His Dad had even tried his luck with hunting, but he came up empty-handed every time, so he gave that up rather fast. Jesus on the other hand seemed to have picked up some of Daryl’s techniques and at least brought in a few rabbits that they would roast over fires to save their supplies.

Carl saw Jesus seldom these days. Apart from his family, Jesus was the only other of Hilltop that went on runs. And he seemed to vanish for days on end. Every time he came back, he looked worse. Haggard. With a hard gleam in his eyes.

_“He is my husband!”_

Carl didn’t know, if that was the reason Jesus drove himself to the brink of exhaustion. He didn’t really care. He only knew that Jesus was the only one that tried to do _something_. Not like his Dad, who was sitting around in Gregory’s old office, looking haunted and spooked like a rabbit.

This evening, as Carl tugged Judith in, Jesus just came back from another run. Carl saw him climbing the stairs towards Dad’s office with determined steps, although tiredness had edged hard lines into his face and a fresh cut graced his cheek. Judith’s room was dark and Carl didn’t move, as voices filtered over from the other side of the hall. Nobody wanted to fucking tell him anything, as though he was a baby, but he wasn’t. That he had to eavesdrop was just their own fault.

“Still nothing?” That was Dad. 

There was a brief silence, before Jesus spoke up. “I’ll go out tomorrow again.”

“No. You can’t risk that, Jesus.”

“But we need to find that base, Rick. We need to find out as much as possible about them people.”

“I know. But I can’t risk sending you out there anymore, Jesus. It already is too dangerous! What if they catch you? They know exactly who you are and where you’re from. They’ll probably see right through it and then? What do you think Negan’s gonna do if they catch you snooping around? What do you think is gonna happen, if – if – you get him out? They would know it was us. They would come here and then what? Politely asking for him to come back? It will be another bloodshed, Jesus. I won’t give them any more reason to come here and kill more of us.”

“We’ll figure something out. We hide him somewhere safe. But Daryl’s been already in their hands for almost three weeks! He’s been shot, Rick! He might be dying right now!”

Carl was surprised at the heat in Jesus’ voice. 

The answer of his father was unexpectedly calm: “Daryl is though, it needs more than a gunshot wound to kill him.”

“Oh, does it?”, Jesus snapped, voice thick with sarcasm.

“He had been a survivor long before the goddamn apocalypse! I know my brother! Just because you had been fake-married to him doesn’t mean he is your responsibility now! Fuck, I want him out there as well, but we don’t have the time or the people for a coordinated attack! Long before the winter is here we’re gonna starve. We need every hand now to grow and reap as much as we possibly can. We need to get through the winter! I don’t risk any more people dying at the whim of this bastard!”

“But Daryl’s life doesn’t matter in that equation or what?”

There was sudden movement and then something slammed into a wall. Probably Jesus. His Dad hissed something too low for Carl to hear, but he could imagine what it was just fine. Whatever someone was going say about Daryl, criticize him or his behavior, Dad would stand up for him and defend him. Just like Daryl would for his father. _Just like Daryl did for Jesus._

“So we’re gonna wait a whole season before trying to get him back?” Jesus voice was calm again. Something rustled, followed by a soft thud.

His father hissed, then it was quiet again. “We don’t have the guns and we don’t have the people for a fucking war with the saviors, you know that, Jesus”, he finally said tired, almost despairing. “And war will be upon us, if you’re bailing him out there now.”

“Fine,” Jesus said. “If more people mean you’re gonna find your balls again to stand up to Negan and we’re gonna get Daryl back, I’ll find you those people.” A heavy silence followed that statement, until boots scraped over the floor. “I’m gonna look for Maggie. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Then Jesus left the office, walking by Carl behind the cracked door and quickly stepping down the stairs.

_Finally_ , Carl thought.

+++

Jesus didn’t return for almost two weeks. But when he did, his Dad and Maggie jumped to their feet almost as soon as they saw his long coat waving in the autumn air. A man in a thick, orange jacket followed him, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously. They gathered in the office that slowly had become Maggie’s, although Gregory still sat in his chair every now and then and clung to his scotch like a dying man. This time, Carl wasn’t kicked out. Maybe because everyone was too occupied giving Jesus and that strange man assessing looks.

“Rick, this is Aaron. He’s from another community called Alexandria”, Jesus said. “Aaron, this is Rick Grimes and Maggie Rhee. They’re in charge here.”

Aaron shook first Maggie’s and then Dad’s outstretched hands.

While Jesus talked about his original trip to Oceanside and how he found Alexandria by accident alone, Carl stared at his profile. Bags hung under his eyes and his hair was a mess. Distantly, he followed the words about Jesus visiting Oceanside to warn them of Negan and asking them if they would join a war against the bastard. They had declined, pointing out that they still had no business with the saviors, but they were willing to help out with supplies and even granting a safe place for Daryl to stay, when they got him out. On his way back to Hilltop, Jesus had to take a detour due to a small herd of walkers and had stumbled practically over Alexandria. Another community under the yoke of the saviors.

What had been more surprising for Jesus was that he had already known two of the people there. Apparently, Daryl and him had stolen a truck full of goods from their scouts Aaron and Eric. Jesus had convinced Aaron to follow him back to Hilltop to meet with them. 

Two weeks. Jesus had been gone for almost two weeks and brought back the wrong man.

Dad talked about his plans of going to war against the saviors. About trading and helping each other out. 

“I need to talk to Deanna about all this”, Aaron said. “She’s in charge of Alexandria and has to decide whether or not we risk a war.”

Maggie nodded.

Carl just couldn’t keep the words in any longer. “And when are we going to get Daryl out?”

Everyone turned around and stared at him.

“It’s over four weeks already! Have you forgotten that he is still in their hands?”

“Carl –“, started his Dad.

“No!”, he interrupted. “You said you wanted him out just as much! We need to get there! He knows where that base is, let’s go!” Carl gestured to Aaron, who looked taken aback. Sure, he had just told them everything he wanted to share with them about the saviors; what they had done to Alexandria and where they assumed their base was. But obviously it had never occurred to the man to actually go there.

“Carl! We still aren’t prepared for a war! We just agreed that Aaron will discuss the possibility with his leader.”

“If you’re looking for more allies, I could take you to another community”, said Aaron.

“There’s another?”, asked Maggie.

“Yes, it’s called the Kingdom. I could take you there”, Aaron offered to Jesus, who looked as torn as Dad probably felt.

“Yeah, you do that, I’ll find that base!” Carl spun around, but a hand grabbed him by the shoulder. Carol stared silently down at him.

“We’ll get him out of there, Carl.”

“It just doesn’t seem as though he is our top priority here!”, he shouted. He knew he was unreasonable and childish, but they were sitting around talking while Daryl suffered. He knew that his Dad thought of Daryl as his brother. But Daryl was his cool uncle, his _friend_ , who would teach him how to ride a bike, when his father didn’t trust him with it. Who had actually let him drag at a cigarette once, only to laugh at Carl’s coughing fit. Who went above and beyond to find Judith some baby food as she cried her lungs out after being born in the prison.

“I’ll get him”, said Jesus into the awkward silence.

“Jesus –“

“We know where that base is, Rick. I’ll go with Aaron, visit the Kingdom, and then I’ll go get him out of that hellhole. _Trust me_.”

They stared at each other over the table. Finally, his Dad rubbed a hand over his face, then glanced over to Maggie and back at Jesus. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t get me wrong here, Jesus. I know you are a skilled fighter. But the saviors won’t hesitate to punish you if they catch you. If it is too risky, turn around. Don’t try anything out of desperation.”

“Got it. Anything else?” A faint smile played on Jesus lips.

“I’m coming with you!”, Carl said instantly. He was so sick and tired of sitting around or digging in the dirt for some last potatoes. He wanted revenge and he wanted Daryl back.

“No! You stay here!”

“But Dad –“

“I’ll go alone. It’s easier that way. Less risky”, said Jesus.

Dad’s eyes snapped back around to him. “No, you won’t either. I can’t go, because if the saviors come and collect their debt, they’ll notice me missing. But take Sasha with you.”

Jesus opened his mouth as if to protest, but Maggie’s voice overrode him. “And bring him back to Hilltop. He needs to stay with his family. We’ll think of somewhere to hide him from the saviors.”

+++

Carl stood on the top of the watchtower looking after the small car that brought Jesus, Sasha and Aaron away from Hilltop. The sun was already sinking and his hands grew cold in the air. He stared after the car until his eyes couldn’t make it out anymore. 

Hopefully, when that car returned, the right man would sit in it.

Somehow, having Daryl back and fighting off the saviors was connected. If one thing failed, the other would fail as well. Carl was certain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written this at least three times and I'm still not that happy with it, but it Needs to be out here. I know that you probably want to know more about what happened to Daryl, but that has to wait until the next chapter ;-) (Which I will probably post in a couple of days)


	11. The Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one thing that keeps Daryl sane in this painful darkness are the memory of sea-green eyes smiling at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings!  
> Captivity while seriously injured without proper treatment  
> Abuse and abuse of power  
> (Slight) torture
> 
> Please contact me if you feel anything should be added!!
> 
> If you're not comfortable reading such stuff, please skip the chapter. I will add a more comprehensive summary before the next chapter for you to catch up.  
> \--
> 
> We've already reached part two, where I switch to Daryl's POV. Again, I used quotes from the series in here. To keep you motivated reading this monster of a story: the slow burn will eventually crawl to some first highlights in this part (although not in that chapter). Enjoy!

_I must be Jim Morrison, to get a motherfucking girl like you_  
Don't know what I did in my past life, but it must have been something cool  
Cause I'm a whiskey drinking, fight provoking, cigarette smoking dude  
I got a problem with my attitude, it's hard for me to keep cool  
But when I look at you, I see me, a reflection of a real soul  
So pardon me, if I may seem loose and out of control  
It ain't the drink talking, it's me talking, fuck if everyone knows  
You my girl and that's that, so hop on the back of this bike and roll  
Let's roll now 

Yelawolf, Tennessee Love

+++

_Yeah, we got a front row seat, oh, to a life that can't be beat, right here on easy street. 'Cause the world is 'bout a treat, when you're on easy street. ‘Cause the world is 'bout a treat, when you're on easy street._

There was a beat of deafening silence, before the fucking song started all over again. Daryl covered his ears with his hands, but it was no use. The song blared through the speakers, crawled right under his hands and through his ears into his brain, drilling into every turn until there was nothing left but a bloody mess.

_We’re on easy street and it feels so sweet …_

Daryl shivered. He was naked safe for the bandage around his head and the patch on his shoulder. He stank of blood, sweat and his own piss and shit.

_‘Cause the world is 'bout a treat, when you're on easy street. And we’re breaking out the good champagne …_

His stomach growled and twisted. He didn’t know when was the last time he had eaten something. Anything that would stay inside his body, that was. There was a puddle of vomit next to the little bucket full of his shit swimming in his piss. The dog food they had feeding him with just came up every time he forced himself to swallow it down.

_It’s our moment in the sun and it’s only just begun. It’s time to have a little –_

The music stopped abruptly. Daryl didn’t dare take his hands off his ears. The position created a little warmth, although not much. His hair had been cropped so short he couldn’t even rake his fingers through it anymore, just short strands sticking up with grease and dried blood. The doctor they had taken him to had almost shaved his head bald, but a woman – one of Negan’s wives? – had come and cut his hair. The doctor had stitched him together, both the head wound, which was a deep laceration with torn skin from the wire of the bat, and his shoulder wound. They had forced some pills down Daryl’s throat and then thrown him into this hole. He was in there ever since.

Feet shuffled outside and a key rattled in the lock. Soon enough, the door was pulled open and sharp light bit into Daryl’s eyes.

“Wow, what a stench! Don’t you hose him down, Dwight?”

Daryl squinted into the light. Two silhouettes stood outside. One was scrawny with limp hair and half his face covered in scar tissue. He was the one, who usually fed him. Who had taken his crossbow. Was wearing his vest. Daryl didn’t know what had happened to the rest of his clothes. There had been Paul’s bandana still in the back pocket of his torn trousers. God, Paul. Daryl had no idea what had happened to him either. If he was still alive. 

The second figure moved and something soft hit Daryl. Clothes.

“Negan says he isn’t ready for that yet.” Dwight’s voice was sharp.

“What, clothes? Or water?” the other asshole snickered. His frame loomed in the doorway. He was smaller than Dwight, but much more muscular. 

Dwight stood there, studying Daryl as he pressed himself into the corner furthest away from the bucket, gripping the clothes like a lifeline, but not throwing them on. Not yet. He wouldn’t show them how miserable he really was. Then Dwight threw his meal at him: a roll with dog food. It bounced off Daryl’s shoulder and landed on the cold tile floor. Daryl knew why the second guy was here. He wanted to know if he really ate that shit. Daryl’s stomach twisted painfully again. Slowly, he reached out and took the roll, biting off a piece of it in the vain attempt to settle his empty stomach.

“Oh man, look at that. He really is Negan’s little bitch!” The little fucker sounded astonished. Like Daryl was some kind of curiosity. He wanted to spit in his face, to lash out, to bury his fist in that guy’s stomach, send his teeth flying and drive his nose inside his ugly skull. But Daryl knew that he could barely stand without collapsing like a ragdoll. 

“Eat up. Put those clothes on. Negan wants to see you.” Dwight the Scar Face watched him with unsteady eyes. Daryl didn’t know if it was because the fucker actually felt something like regret for wearing his clothes and walking around with _his_ crossbow. Hopefully he put a bolt into his own heart one day.

“Come on, we don’t have all day, bitch!” The other asshole waved a gun in front of Daryl’s nose. Was that supposed to scare him? Nevertheless, Daryl pulled on the clothes, slowly with shaking hands, stuffing the roll inside the waistband. They were too big, filthy things, with sprayed on letters. No fucking clue what for, but Daryl had some ideas. Not that he liked them very much.

He slowly got to his feet and almost fell on his face as he pulled on the sweat pants. Asshole number two sniggered. Fuck him. A hand grabbed him and Daryl reeled back, pushing the hand away violently.

“Hey, hey! Easy!” The safety of a gun clicked. “Now come out, nice and slow.”

Daryl stepped out of his cell, his bare feet hitting cleaner concrete. The light was even brighter, but the air was lighter, cleaner. Little black spots danced before his eyes and his head throbbed in the rhythm of his own heartbeat, but he felt somewhat steady on his feet.

“Alright, let’s go. You first, bitch. And don’t even think of trying something.” Daryl could hear the smile in asshat’s voice as he was pushed along the floor, the gun cold between his shoulder blades, even through the fabric of his shirt. They walked around corners and through doors and maybe they thought they were clever and he would get lost in the maze, but as it was, Daryl only drew a mental map of the place, stacking away all information for when he would get the fuck out of here. Back to Hilltop. Back to his family. 

He didn’t dare to think further. But eyes the color of sea glass came unbidden to his mind. A smile so infectious it was hard not to react in a similar fashion.

Dwight finally opened a door at the end of a floor that looked just like all the hundred others they had just passed. Asshat shoved him in. Inside was a small room with cupboards and chairs, a kitchenette, a sofa and a bed. It looked homely, safe for the windows perched high towards the ceiling, reminding Daryl of the prison. Well, it just was that, only with a nice cover-up.

The dickhead with the bat sat sprawled in one of the chairs, practically scratching his balls with a wide grin on his face. “Thank you for your astonishing service, Horace. Now, leave us alone.”

Asshat looked a little relieved as he scurried back out of the door and left Dwight and the fucker Negan alone with Daryl. Daryl didn’t move, just stood there, suppressing the urge to shift or giving himself away with one of his damn ticks, although it itched. He suddenly missed his long hair. He felt naked without it, to easily looked through by those piercing eyes that were trained on him. Negan rose, swaggering over nonchalantly. 

“Wow, Daryl. You look like shit.” He grinned. “And you smell even worse.”

Daryl watched him out of the corner of his eyes. He had no idea what the dickhead was up to, but it sure as hell would be nasty. He didn’t remember much of what had happened the day he almost had to watch a bat crushing into Paul’s skull. But Negan had seen to that unfortunate circumstance and described everything in the most vivid details. Beth. And then Abraham. How Rick just cowered there. Accepting everything that Negan threw at him. Even promising to cut off pieces of Daryl and let Paul of all people watch it. Paul, who had apparently told Negan to his face that Daryl was his husband. Why the fuck Paul would do such a thing, risk his own life for saying such a thing, was beyond Daryl. But it felt nice somehow to know that he cared that much. Even if it was the stupidest thing to do. As if the two of them were a real item. As if this thing between them wasn’t some stupid shit ritual that got his family fed. As if something like that could ever be real for a Dixon.

“Come on, don’t look at me like that. What happened lies all in the past. Over now. You shouldn’t hold a grudge against me, just because I had to show your people how their world’s working now. Really, that isn’t all on me. Sure, choosing that sweet girl was _terrible_. But Rick just wouldn’t open this goddamn mouth of his and just yell a name at me. So, really, you should be mad at him. I mean, Dwight here? We really started off on the wrong foot. Tried to run, because he thought he could make it without me. In this world! Insane, isn’t it?”

_The only insane thing stands right before me_ , Daryl thought viciously, but didn’t move an inch. He wouldn’t give that fucker the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

“But we got over it. The scars were a necessity, even he knows that, right, Dwighty-Boy?” Negan leered at Dwight, who stood ramrod still, much like Daryl himself. He wanted to sucker punch that grinning motherfucker. “Well, I saw the _potential_ of Dwight. Of what he could be. So I made him see it for himself. And then I married his super-hot wife. Ex-wife. And then after all that? He still got armored. And now look at him! Bouw! One of my top guys! And we are totally cool. The point being: I think, _you_ could be that guy. I think, you are ready to _be that guy_. Look around here.” Negan swung his bat around the Spartan room as if praising a fucking suite in one of these fancy hotels that were only for people with so much money it got out of their asses. “This? This could all be yours. All you got to do is answer one simple question.” Negan paused, giving Daryl a once over. “Who are you?”

What the fuck? What was this shit now? Did he really expect Daryl to say fucking Negan like all the other dumb asses, because the dickhead bribed him with another cell?

“What? Ok, guy, you got overwhelmed by the awesomeness of this? I’m gonna ask you one more time.” Negan crowded himself into Daryl’s space. As if that would intimidate him. Daryl nearly spat him in the face, but his head pounded and bright spots dance before his eyes. It was hard to keep that bite of dog food in him. Although he would have happily retched over Negan’s shiny leather jacket, Daryl knew he needed every ounce of energy inside his body if he ever wanted to make it out of here. “Who are you?”

Daryl let the seconds tick by. Tried to read Negan, see if he really got his hopes up at that little display of power he showed Daryl. Goddamn son of a bitch. Slowly, Daryl straightened up, jutted his chin out and looked Negan dead in the eyes as he finally opened his mouth: “Daryl.” Fuck, his voice sounded fucked up.

Dwight turned to him suddenly. His eyes were big and concerned, but Daryl’s eyes flitted back to Negan instantly. “This is the only –“

“Wait. It’s cool, D.” Negan had leaned back a bit, looking down at Daryl as if he was something ugly and worth crashing under his heal. Truth be told, be probably was. But at least he wouldn’t trip over his own ego that was bigger than a horse’s cock in a mare. “He made his choice. Ain’t my problem if he made a dumbass choice.”

That smile again. Daryl gritted his teeth. Fuck him. Fuck everybody. If they thought he would break that easily they sure as hell never met a Dixon in their lives. He wouldn’t cave in. Not if they thought a song and some dog food were the worst that had ever happened to Daryl in his life.

They dragged him back into his box, closed the door and the world again was dark and filled with stench. The biggest mistake they made was to let him keep the clothes. Fucking stupid dickheads. 

_We’re on easy street and it feels so sweet …_

Daryl lay on the ground, watching the stripe of light under the door as the song started blaring again. But he didn’t hear it. He heard Paul’s laugh as he told him about his itchy poison-ivyed ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the song by Yelawolf! Mostly I think that's just Daryl as music :-D


	12. The Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> description of torture  
> language
> 
> (short summary at the end of the chapter, if you rather skip this one)
> 
> PS: I'm so sorry for not replying to your comments! T_T They're all lovely and wonderful and I'm just glad you like this story! Life has been a bit tough lately, so sorry for the delay. Hopefully I can make it up with an extra long chapter and some hope for our two favourite guys! xxx

Daryl lost every sense of time. He was fed in irregular patterns, some days even no one came with dog food. The music was blaring, but sometimes it was quiet for what felt like days. He still got to keep the clothes. Obviously, no one really cared. Dwight sometimes came, trying to talk to him. Trying to talk sense as if he had a bad conscience, the fucker.

But often enough, Daryl lay alone in his cell, watching the light under the door. Of course he had tried to break it or the lock. But so far, he hadn’t been lucky. The door had always been properly locked.

So Daryl lay in his cell, waiting. There would be an opening. There always was.

_There is more. There is always more._

Sick fucker on a bike.

_If you have to eat shit, best not to nibble. Bite, chew, swallow, repeat._

Daryl tried not to think about that day. Not because he had trouble remembering how he blew these assholes up. Hell, he would do it again, even without the RPG. That had been hugely satisfying. No, he avoided thinking about that day, because of how it had ended. Because of this goddamn party and because of – 

Daryl drew in a shaky breath. It was no use. The images came rushing back as if a floodgate had been opened. Paul smiling drunkenly at him, warm and somewhat private, plugging the cigarette out of Daryl’s fingers. The touch had been _electric_. There was no other word to describe it or at least Daryl didn’t know of any. The jolt that had run through Daryl had made the hair on his arms stand up and his heart beat faster. Those eyes and those smiles got to his head. As if Paul – damn it, yes, that was his name after all, not prick or ninja and certainly not _Jesus_ – had bewitched him from the day he had accepted the pack of cigarettes as a symbol of their deal with Hilltop. It had become so bad that Daryl had actually touched Paul’s wrist, where he had knotted his sorry rag around as if to shove the ridiculousness of their situation in his face. 

_I told you, I like it._

Daryl had almost snorted. What was there to like about an old rag anyway? It was worn and used, torn at the seams. It was outright pitiful.

God, he was pitiful. Had hoped, had wanted Paul to mean him. But it was never him. Not before and not now. Things like that always came easier to others; he was broken in so many ways. And why should he even ask for more? He had a family now, goddammit. Something he had never dared to hope for. There were _several people_ now, that he considered his family, that he would die for. That he loved in that sense of way. Yes, even that little ninja. _Especially that lil’ ninja,_ whispered a voice that sounded like Merle.

That was why such things were never meant for him. He had to make sure Merle wasn’t getting into too much trouble. Had to make sure Merle wouldn’t know just what kind of things made Daryl’s blood run hotter. Had to make sure no one knew.

But Merle wasn’t any more. The _rules_ weren’t anymore. No one gave a fuck about such things anymore, but still Daryl wasn’t different. He was an outsider for everyone else and the big brother for his family. Rick’s right hand. Nothing more. More would be complicated. More would be devastating. 

And then there was fucking Paul Rovia smiling at him with these big sea glass-colored eyes of his. Like he was the only one he even wanted to smile at. And Daryl knew that this wasn’t true. Paul was acting out of some sense of duty for Hilltop. Because Daryl wasn’t someone you would fucking moon over, he knew that himself. He wasn’t easy on the eyes and he certainly had the charming attitude of something toxic. Paul should give this Alex-guy his smiles. The guy sure as hell sent Paul the rightful, lingering stares for such a thing as a broad Paul-smile.

_But you’re one of the few that call me by my name. I like that. I like_ you. 

_I never told you I didn’t regret being married to you, either._

Daryl coiled up on himself. It was so laughable. It had always been alright. Alright that Merle managed to hook up with girls that should have been out of his league. Alright that his shithead father was able to marry someone like his Ma. Alright that Glenn found Maggie in this shitshow of a new world, amongst all that chaos and death. Alright that Rick found love again, after losing Lori. Alright that Abraham didn’t even know who he should settle down with, Sasha or Rosita. It was alright for all of them. Because they were normal. Not some fucked up redneck trash like him. So why had Paul said these things? Why couldn’t Daryl just brush them off like he did with so many things that were said to him?

Why did he somewhere at the back of his mind hope that Paul actually _meant_ those words?

Daryl closed his eyes, trying to blend out the music enough to sleep. Of course it was wasted energy.

_I like you._

_I like ya, too._ Daryl never had said it. Never dared to even be close to utter these words. Paul would smirk, eyes mirthful, and throw a smart-ass comment back at him. That was all he was for Paul; a sparring partner for his fast quips and ironic wisecracks. Someone who wouldn’t outright lash back, because he couldn’t. He wasn’t that good with words anyway.

_Goodnight, Daryl._

Daryl curled into a fetal position, trying to keep the warmth inside him that never seemed to fade whenever he thought about the way Paul had looked that night. That instant. Soft. Raw. Honest. With eyes too wide and open.

_Night, Paul._

+++

The next time Daryl saw the sun again he knew it was a trap. He knew, but he still went out of his open cell door, slinking down the floor and around corners until one of the doors had opened into a small inner courtyard. Daryl hastily looked around, trying to find the fastest route out. Bikes. There were maybe eight or ten bikes at the opposite site of the yard. Just as he ran over, another door crashed open behind him and then another in front of him.

They spilled out like the plague, circling him in. They didn’t carry any weapons, but now there were nine against him and Daryl knew he wouldn’t make it out. Not today at least. Feeling the sun on his skin and the fresh air in his lungs was nice, though. That had been worth it.

But the goons didn’t strike. They just boxed him in, so he wouldn’t run. Something was about to happen and Daryl knew instantly that it wasn’t just asking him a question and offering him a room with a bed.

A whistling tune reached him. Daryl didn’t even need to look, he knew it was Negan. Sure as hell, the dickhead walked into their little circle. “Are we pissing our pants yet?”

Daryl almost snorted. What, did he really think it only needed a couple of days in some dark hole and some whistling would be enough to shit himself? There would be a lecture here, that was for sure. But what could this bastard really do to shock him? Cut off his hand to send it to Rick? Fine by him, he would hopefully die because of blood loss and come back as a walker to bite a nice junk out of Negan’s smiling face. Rick wouldn’t be stupid enough to let a fucking hand discourage him.

Negan planted himself in front of Daryl like the cocky little asshat he was. That arrogant grin was in place as always. Negan looked at him with a predatory gleam in his eyes, as if Daryl walking out of his open cell was some sort of accomplishment Negan himself had managed to master.

“Who are you?”, he asked, pointing the bat behind him. That sick question again.

“Negan”, answered the fat coward that stood there.

“Who are … you?” Negan pointed the bat towards another man, his eyes never leaving Daryl.

“Negan.”

“Who are ya?”, Negan asked with a great flourish all of the men around Daryl.

“Negan!” Fucking parrots.

“You see that? I am everywhere. And this was your shot to prove to me that fundamental fact was sinking in and you failed. Which sucks, because your life was about to get so much cooler. Am I right?”

“Damn right”, answered the fat guy again. Daryl tried to imagine a horde of walkers tearing into the man. He would be a feast for them.

“Now, Dwight gave you some options.” Daryl only stared back. Of course Dwight the Shithead did. As if Daryl would actually do so much as think about that shit. “I ain’t giving you up yet, so let me break it down for you. You’ve three choices. One. You wind up on this wake and you work for me as a dead man. Two. You get out of your cell, you work for points, but you’re gonna wish you were dead. Or three. You work for me. You get yourself a brand new pair of shoes and you live like a king!” He punctuated his words by dropping the bat onto the ground right where Daryl’s bare feet would have been, if he hadn’t moved out of the way a second before. Negan had made Daryl move and he knew that. “Choice seems pretty obvious. You should know, there is no door number four. This is it. This is the only way.”

He eyed Daryl again with his cold eyes. Suddenly a quiet laugh broke from his lips and that had Daryl’s hair stand up.

“Screw it.” He swung the bat in a sudden motion right towards his head. Daryl steeled himself for the impact, for the pain that would follow. The bat stopped mere inches from his face with Negan right behind the handle, eyes glistening.

“Wow!”, he whispered. “You don’t scare easy. I love that!” Negan bounced back. Daryl tried to calm his thundering heart. He wouldn’t give that fucker the satisfaction of seeing how close Daryl had been to raise his arm and duck. “But Lucille, well, gonna pisses her off.” 

Daryl ground his teeth. The damn bat had a _name_. 

“She finds it to be disrespectful. Lucky for you, she’s not feeling too thirsty today. But I am.” He leaned forward again, his voice low and dangerous. Daryl was a second away from smashing his head into that face. “So, I’m gonna go, get me a drink!” Negan beamed at him, as if that idea should excite Daryl as much as it did that sick bastard.

Negan then walked away, whistling again. He didn’t get his hands dirty. No. For that shit he had his guys, who were now brave enough to take it out on Daryl, nine against him. This hadn’t bothered him much before. There had been enough brawls with Merle in seedy bars. But Daryl had been at the top of his game then, not half starved to death with a pounding head and a shot wound to the shoulder. Still, he took one of them with him. His arms locked around the man’s neck and he didn’t let go, not when they pounded into him with feet and fists. The man in his arms went still, but Daryl missed that, sadly. He woke up in his cell again, his whole body aching and bruised and his wound at his shoulder was bleeding again.

Still. One less.

+++

Daryl didn’t feel anything at some point anymore. The hunger was a constant ache as were the wounds. His head was pounding to the sounds of the fucking song and he couldn’t stop shivering. Most of the time, he lay on the floor, watching the shadows walk and go in the slim sliver of light that was everything that told him that there was still another world outside. That he hadn’t died and went straight into his personal hell.

Some days, a lot of people were running around the floor. Their voices echoed off the walls, but most of the time Daryl couldn’t understand them over the blaring song. Sometimes the voices shouted to turn off the crap and Daryl had some blissful hours of pulsing silence where he could listen to his own heartbeat and the pounding in his head. The wound above his temple burned like fire and wetness slowly oozed through the bandages down his face. Not dead. Yet.

Every so often, he only saw the shadow of Dwight coming by to throw his meals at him. That one time he had thrown a half-rotten apple at Daryl, Daryl almost hadn’t kept it together. The smell alone made his mouth water. The taste was even sweeter that he remembered any apple to be. He had very reluctantly eaten his greens whenever his Ma actually got up to cook him and Merle some dinner, but that apple was better than any chocolate bar he had ever dug his teeth into.

But that had been one time. 

Another time, they got him out of his cell. Not Dwight. Or Negan. Three guys, one of them the asshat that had first been with Dwight and had thrown the clothes at him. They were even filthier now, and stank horribly. At least that was what the goons said, when they pulled him out of his cell. They had never been to fetch him before, so Dwight probably wasn’t around this time. 

 

_An older guy with two missing teeth grins before he produces a taser, that he pokes into Daryl’s side. Pain, so hot and intense that Daryl thinks his eyes boil out of his skull and his brain explodes out of his ears, shoots through him. He falls to the floor, convulsing, retching up stomach acid and pissing himself. Distantly, he hears cries of amazement and praise. Daryl is still trying to get a grip back on himself, when someone grabs him by his arms and drags him off. He is barely able to move his feet as he tries to gain control over his still twitching body again and his eyes play tricks with his brain._

_They take him to a large room. Their steps echo a bit. Chairs screech over concrete. Strangely, it smells of food. Drool is dripping over Daryl’s chin instantly. He hears laughter and finally sees enough again to make out their faces. It is more people in the room now._

_“Come on, Sarah, cook him something nice. Look how he’s begging!” They howl with laughter at that clever little joke. Daryl tries to glare at the man and is dumped on a chair. Everyone goes quiet, watching him while a plate with hot steaming food (Daryl can’t remember exactly, but he thinks it is mashed potatoes and some grilled meat) is placed before him._

_First, he refuses, the acid on his tongue still burning. Something trickles over his lip and Daryl licks it away reflexively. It’s blood. Something pointy pokes him in the shoulder. A fork. Daryl glares. A finger prods at his ear and Daryl flinches, hissing. Laughter. Then someone jabs him with a knife in the leg. Not hard, but it still draws blood through Daryl’s ratty clothing. More poking, more laughter. The food is shoved practically in his face. Finally, he breaks. He shovels the food with his grimy hands into his mouth. Their hooting and cheering still rings in his head from time to time like a distant bell._

_“Come on, now you’ve eaten, you have to drink some, too!” Someone pulls the plate away before Daryl can lick it clean. It is the first real meal in forever and Daryl wants more, much more. Suddenly, he is starving and feeling sick at the same time._

_“Yeah, come on, drink it!”_

_“Drink! Drink! Drink!”_

_Daryl tries to shy away, moving and avoiding the bottle. He doesn’t know what is in there, but it has to be something disgusting. Fuck, why has he been so stupid to eat in the first place? This isn’t about the food, it is all about the drink. Hasn’t he learnt from Will Fucking Dixon himself that everything nice had a price? And that things in bottles are as nasty as a belt to the back?_

_Someone grabs him then, holding him still and Daryl fights like crazy, snarling and lashing out, but there are too many hands. Too many holding him in place, forcing his head back and his mouth open. The stench of alcohol hits him like a sucker punch to the stomach. Whatever it is, it makes his eyes water instantly as they pour it down his throat. He tries not to swallow, instead spitting it back into their faces. But eventually he coughs and gags and the burning liquid races down his throat into his stomach._

_He is going to drown. They drown him in alcohol and he is going to die the same pitiful way like his fucking old man. Daryl tries to breathe, but there is only burning liquid. There is cheering and laughing as they pour the whole bottle down his throat, holding him upright. Blood roars in his ears. His eyes sting and black spots dance again, growing larger and larger, until the colors fade entirely. His stomach clenches. It is already unable to cope with the food properly, and now rebels against the masses of fluid sloshing down his throat. He heaves and feels the bile rise from his stomach, fighting for room against the alcohol. But there is none. There is no room for air, just fire, and Daryl is sure to suffocate. Then the hands are gone and Daryl slumps against the table._

_He tries to draw in breaths desperately, but the bile wins and he throws up the first real meal in days, retching alcohol and barely digested pieces of meat and potato mash all over himself. Snot is running down his nose as he gasps for air._

_The people around him are a distant mass of hollering cheers. Someone yells: “Look at how gross the kitchen looks now, maybe he should clean it all up again – with his tongue!”_

_Cheers answer._

_Daryl tries to get his feet under him and make a move, but only falls off the chair into the vomit on the floor._

_“Guys, get him back into that cell! Simon’s back!”_

_With that, he is grabbed unceremoniously, hastily dragged back and thrown into the black hole again. The door shuts with a loud and final bang._

 

Daryl didn’t know how much time had passed since then. He had slept some, a mindless stupor, while he shivered in his clammy clothes.

Until this day, not even Dwight had come shuffling by his cell again. The day was quiet and even the music didn’t play. It was one of the better days. Daryl even drifted off into sleep again, lulled by the memory of big sea-green eyes constantly smiling at him, as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world. It was a nice feeling, safe and warm.

Daryl didn’t hear the soft footsteps at first. Only when his little light got even darker, he snapped his eyes open again. Daryl tensed. Whoever was outside tried not to make any noise. As though he wasn’t supposed to be there. _Not again._ Daryl crawled back, pushed himself into his corner.

Then there was a soft knock at the door.

Daryl froze. Nobody did fucking knock on his door.

“Daryl?”

The word was soft as a breeze, but it boomed louder than the goddamn song in his ears. That couldn’t be. He was slowly going insane. His brain had finally come up with the sound of his voice, trying to mock him with some hallucination. Maybe he was finally dying.

“Daryl!” There was a beat of silence, then: “Fuck.” Something scraped over the door, then inside the lock. Wire. Someone was picking the lock of his cell door. No way could his brain imagine that. But Daryl still refused to believe the only alternative that was left then.

Finally something clicked and the door swung slowly open. The light bit into his eyes as always. Daryl tried to adjust faster than normal, squinting against the brightness. There was a black silhouette kneeling by the door. Small, with a ridiculous long leather coat and a hat on his head.

It hurt as Daryl tried to swallow. This couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here. He mustn’t be here.

“Oh my God, Daryl. It’s you, it’s really you!”

Daryl stared at the eyes he had imagined in the darkness of his cell, certain to never see them again. They were big and loaded with such relief that Daryl shrank back into his corner even more. He must look outright pitiful and disgusting, but Paul moved towards Daryl, into his cell. Daryl flinched back so hard he hit his head at the wall behind him. Paul froze instantly.

“Daryl, it’s me. Paul. We need to get out of here. _Now._ ”

Daryl took him in. Apart from the almost glowing irises of sea glass, he looked bad. There were circles under his eyes that Daryl had never seen before. His hair was haphazardly pulled back in some kind of knot and shoved under a hat Daryl had never seen on him either. There were hard lines around his mouth and his beard was unkempt. 

“Ya look like shit.”

Paul blinked at him, those ridiculous expressive eyebrows raised so high on his forehead that they disappeared under the rim of his new hat. Then a smile broke out on his face, vibrant and full of warmth, and Daryl felt the air knocked right out of his lungs. “Charming as ever, Dixon. Now, come on, move that ass of yours out of that shithole.” Paul extended a hand, not hesitating a second. The sleeve of his coat rode up at the movement and exposed the pale skin of his arm and wrist. Daryl stared at it. Stared at the faded red cloth still tied firmly around that wrist. Paul still wore his rag. Without thinking, Daryl clasped the gloved hand with his own filthy one, letting Paul drag him to his feet.

He came. _Paul came to find him._

His head spun at the sudden upright motion and Paul pressed his hands into Daryl’s chest to steady him. The warmth of the body just made it so much more realer. Paul was here. Inside the savior’s base. They needed to get out of here. _Paul_ needed to get out of here. Daryl wouldn’t be able to live if he knew they got him, too. That Paul sat in some cell of his own, listening to this fucking song and being fed dog food.

Daryl grabbed Paul’s wrist, shoving him forward. “Go! Ya need to get outta here.”

“No, Daryl, I’m not leaving you behind!”, Paul hissed.

Daryl shook his head. He wouldn’t be the one, who put Paul in a cage like his very own. “They’re takin’ ya! They’ll find ya!”

“You go with me, Daryl, or I won’t go at all!”

Daryl wanted to scream in frustration. Why was Paul risking his life for him? He wasn’t worth the risk, goddamn!

“I won’t leave you here.” Paul stared at him with his big blue eyes and Daryl felt himself making a step forward, ready to push Paul out of this cell and shut the door. If Paul wouldn’t be able to drag him out, he had to leave, right? He just had to go, couldn’t risk lingering any longer here. He would eventually safe himself. 

Paul stepped back. Daryl followed. He still had his hand around Paul’s wrist. 

“Come with me, Daryl. _Please._ ”

Daryl felt his resistance waver and crumble. As if Daryl could say no to anything Paul asked. He would just make sure that Paul actually made it out of here, safely. Kill every Savior that would cross his path and then send Paul back. He nodded with his eyes still locked on Paul’s.

“Good. C’mon.”

They moved slowly, still with Daryl grabbing Paul at the wrist like he was a five-year old trudging after his mother. But Paul didn’t seem to mind. He led Daryl through floors, until they reached a big intersection of some sorts. There Paul wriggled his wrist free. Daryl suddenly felt too light without Paul pulling him back to the ground. Then something was pushed in his hand, something cold and hard. Daryl glanced down. One of Paul’s knives sat in his palm, the light catching on the simple but beautiful handiwork of Earl. 

Voices echoed in the distance and Daryl was snapped back to reality, back to Paul and where they were. Paul pushed him gently forward and together they raced through the maze of this cemented monstrosity. They had to stop once or twice, when the voices and footfalls got too close, but they made it out into the courtyard, where Negan’s men had beaten him bloody. The memory still sat in the forefront of his mind. Daryl’s eyes flitted over to where the bikes stood the last time. Relief flooded him as he saw that the bikes were still there. Careless fools. Daryl made his way over to them, Paul hot on his heels, when another door slammed open. Just like the last time. But this time, it wasn’t only about him. This time there was Paul as well and if he ever let something happen to the man that came and got him out of his cell, Daryl would jab an arrow into his own chest willingly.

He spun around. The movement was almost too much for his pounding head, but his eyes locked onto that fat coward that parroted Negan’s words so nicely the last time they met. Clearly, the guy didn’t expect to find anybody in the courtyard this time. His hands instantly went up, dropping something that looked like a sandwich. Daryl didn’t hesitate. He jumped on the chubby guy and drove the knife Paul had just given him into the skull without any resistance. He just drove it in again and again to make sure the fucker didn’t get up again, didn’t get at him again, because Daryl remembered his foot in his stomach with vivid clarity. Making sure he didn’t get up again to get at _Paul_ and do the same to him.

“Daryl …”

There was a soft touch at his elbow and Daryl reeled back with a heaving chest. He almost plunged the knife into the man next to him, only to stare shocked about himself into Paul’s concerned eyes. Before he could get his head back on his shoulders, Paul tugged at his arm again, not sparing the corpse on the ground a second glance.

“Come, we gotta get out of here. You think we can take one of the bikes?”

Daryl glanced over and scanned the vehicles quickly. There was one he could hotwire blindly, but only because Merle had once “burrowed” one himself and therefore never had the keys anyway. Daryl strode over, tugging the knife carefully into the waistband of his baggy pants, and after some fumbling he kicked the engine to life. They didn’t have time to come up with a proper plan. He glanced back at Paul, unsure of how to proceed. 

“You can get up on it?”, Paul asked. 

Daryl hesitated. He felt wobbly on his feet, but that wasn’t the thing. Paul should be on that bike alone, heading back towards Hilltop, back to his family, tell them that Daryl was alive. That he would wait for an opening and strike from the inside. 

“Daryl?” Paul’s hand landed tentatively on his shoulder. Warm. Secure. Daryl shivered.

Who was he kidding? _This_ was his opening. This was his chance to get out of here. Paul came, _risked his life for him_ to get him out of here. It was just what they did for each other on every run they had been send together. Make sure that the other was safe. 

Daryl spurred into action, his movements jerky, but he swung his leg over the bike nevertheless. Sitting on a bike felt suddenly so familiar that even his nausea subsided. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting Paul to hotwire a bike for himself, because Paul sure as hell wouldn’t want to press himself against Daryl’s filthy back and riding bitch with him. Not to mention the stench that he must emit. But Paul was already there, sliding up behind him, pressing in close without a second of hesitation.

“Go, go!”

Daryl didn’t wait. The bike pulled away and smashed through a flimsy chain link gate, speeding up and through walkers impaled on sticks, empty hands grabbing desperately at them. A warm arm slid around his middle. Paul pulled himself even closer and Daryl couldn’t understand why. _He_ wouldn’t want to be near himself reeking worse than a sewer in the summer, so why was Paul giving less than a fuck?

It didn’t really matter, though. Daryl sped as fast as he dared out of this shitty place. Anywhere but here, anywhere where Paul was safe again. They actually made it out with no one shouting after them from a distance. He didn’t know how or why exactly. The place seemed absurdly empty, as if something had drawn their attention in another direction. Didn’t matter. Daryl just sped the bike up and Paul clung to him, practically molding against his back while the air beat against their faces. 

Paul tugged his head into the crook of Daryl’s shoulder to hide from the gusts of the biting wind. Despite that, Daryl felt warm, enclosed in Paul’s arms although he just sat there clinging to Daryl so he wouldn’t fall off the bike. “Turn left here”, Paul said directly into his ear. His breath was warm and Daryl shivered at the stark contrast to the cold wind, then turned without questioning. “Sasha’s waiting there.”

They neared a car parked at the side of the road and Daryl saw Sasha lowering her rifle as she recognized them. 

“Slow down and get off the bike. We’re gonna smash it into the trees over there. Hopefully that’s gonna be enough for them to not turn every stone just to find you”, Paul said lowly. Daryl didn’t question it. He stopped by the car and staggered off the bike, pulling the gas while Sasha got a canister of gasoline out of the trunk. He let the bike go and it skidded across the street, leaving burnt rubber bands on the asphalt. Daryl almost vomited at the stench. The bike crashed into the trees and Sasha poured the contents of the red container over the remains. Daryl yanked the stinking sweater off him, threw it onto the pile and watched it burn as Paul’s match lit up the heap of metal and splintered wood. He wished to burn the pants as well, but he wouldn’t walk around naked in front of the others. For fuck’s sake, seeing his messed up, ugly back was probably enough already.

Daryl crossed his arms, shivering slightly in the cool breeze, as warm arms suddenly looped around his shoulders. He had been so engrossed in watching the little fire that he hadn’t noticed Sasha coming over and enveloping him into a hug. He huffed and patted her back for a second. She understood, though and let go of him.

“God, it’s so good to see you again”, she said and Daryl couldn’t look into her shining eyes. Her hand was warm on his shoulder, as Daryl bit the inside of his cheek and grumbled something affirmative. God, he hated that she had to see him like this. But Sasha understood, smiling warmly at him and Daryl once again was hit by the sheer absurdity that someone like her was now his family.

Sasha jumped into the car and Daryl was about to follow as something warm was pressed into his crossed arms.

“Here, put it on. It’s probably not warm enough, but since you won’t fit into my shirt, it’s gonna do it for now.”

Daryl looked down at Paul and then at the black material that he already had grasped without thinking. It was Paul’s stepped vest, still warm from him wearing it. Daryl felt his cheeks flush at that thought alone, but he didn’t have time to protest. Paul was already heading to the car, looking back at him with a quirked eyebrow. “Come on, we need to get lost.”

Daryl pulled the vest on and since it was too big for Paul anyway it was just right for his broad shoulders. He climbed into the car in the backseats beside Paul and tried not to think too much about their brushing shoulders or the way Paul had felt plastered against his back.

Sasha pulled away and took off on meandering routes through the area. Paul was heavy against Daryl’s side and he fought his dropping eyelids with everything he had. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to wake up in his cell by that damn song blaring into his ears and realizing that this had all been a dream. Their way back to Hilltop was slow, but steady, with no one stopping them. He was actually relieved to see the gate again, although the tension of the guards and then everyone inside hit him square in the chest. He couldn’t fucking remember what happened, but he didn’t need to. Negan had told him enough. The rest he saw in the haunted looks in the eyes around him.

As soon as they parked in front of Barrington House, Sasha jumped out of the car and rushed over to Maggie and Glenn, who appeared suddenly out of seemingly thin air with that humble girl in tow – Enid. Carl was there, too, with Judith on his hip, as well as Tara and Eugene.

The warmth at his side was suddenly gone and Daryl trembled. He wanted to pull Paul back. He wanted to bury himself in that warmth and never face this world again. But he couldn’t. Slowly he climbed out of the car and his eyes searched the faces before him. 

“Where’s Rick?”, he asked, voice hoarse. With a shaking hand he gripped the roof of the car. “Where’s Carol?!”

Oh God. What had happened? Did they come back to finish off more of his family? Where were they?

Suddenly Maggie stood in front of him, her eyes big and tired. They reminded Daryl so much of Beth’s that he wanted to throw up and punch something at the same time. This wasn’t fucking fair! Why her? Why Beth? Sweet, innocent Beth, who was too good for this cruel world.

A sob broke over his lips. And then Maggie’s arms were around his shoulders and her face smashed in his neck, clinging to him and sobbing with him. The others crashed into them and Daryl already felt overwhelmed and caged in by so much proximity, although it was his family and they were allowed to touch. He squirmed away, pushing them gently at a safe distance.

“Rick’s with Michonne and Rosita at Alexandria. Another community living under Negan”, Glenn said with a shaky voice. “We try to build a resistance, draw people together. We’re going to fight that bastard.”

Daryl nodded. Hell they would. “Carol?”

“At the kingdom, the second community we found. She’s safe, Daryl”, said Maggie with still puffy eyes.

“They’re going to be back within this or next week”, Paul added quietly. Daryl had almost taken Paul’s reassuring presence at his side for granted. But now he shifted, moved forward and Daryl felt suddenly cold to the core. He shivered violently and only Maggie and Glenn’s quick reaction saved him from tumbling to the ground.

“We need to get him inside!”

“Oh fuck, Daryl, I’m sorry, I – “

“He needs to shower and rest!”

“Get Dr. Carson!”

The voices washed over Daryl like a riptide. His head was pounding again and he felt so fucking cold and tired. He stumbled in the direction warm hands steered him to, not even able to take in his surroundings. He was pushed into a warm room that smelled nicely, onto something soft and then there was nothing but blackness enveloping him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Paul came to get Daryl out! :) Now they're back at Hilltop - let's see what happens after in the next chapter! ;-)


	13. The Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is kind of an early update, but I need to get this chapter out of my system. God, I miss these two so much :(
> 
> My chapters are getting longer and longer ... but we're finally getting somewhere, I guess ;)

Daryl woke with a start. He jolted upright with his heart pounding in his ears, scrambling into a sitting position, away from lying openly in his cell, back into his corner - He stilled. The corner was soft. The _ground_ was soft.

Rapidly he blinked his eyes open and looked around. Instead of total blackness beating back against his eyeballs there was actually a soft light coming in. There was a window, hung with a thin curtain. The faucet over a sink glimmered silver in the little light that fell in. Some chairs around a table. Books. Books everywhere. An odd sign, proclaiming _Welcome to Barrington House!_ with arrows pointing left and right underneath on a wall at the back. Daryl looked down at his lap. There was a thick blanket hanging slightly off an ugly, beaten couch.

This wasn’t his cell.

His ragged breath was unnaturally loud in his ears. 

It was silent otherwise. No song playing. No guards shuffling by. 

Daryl closed his eyes, slumping back into the couch. Everything came crashing back at him. Paul. The ride home. Maggie. Dr. Carson checking on him. Daryl stripping and stumbling into a shower and then crashing face first onto the couch again. The couch in Paul’s trailer.

He groaned. What an utter fool had he made of himself? Stumbling around as if he lived here. Not caring if Paul wanted him here anyway. His room was back at Barrington House, with Carol and Tara, not here. He hadn’t even been to the trailer save for the one time Paul had offered him the shower after his first hunt for Hilltop and the other time when he had crashed here with Judith.

But somehow his body had decided that this place was safe enough to pass out.

Daryl rubbed a hand over his face. He had no idea how long he had been out. There was a band aid at the back of his hand and he vaguely recalled Dr. Carson putting an IV into him. A shiver ran down his arms as he sat there, trying to piece back together the last events. It was getting cold inside the trailer with autumn now in full force and no heater inside. Daryl rubbed his bare arms. He wore some loose trousers, but apparently no one was able to put a shirt on him while he had laid like a dead fish on the couch and decided that tugging a thick blanket around him would have to do it. 

God, he hoped Paul hadn’t dressed him. He flushed furiously at the thought of Paul putting some pants on his naked body. 

Daryl threw the blanket from him, the warm material suddenly suffocating him, and padded over to the sink getting himself a glass of water. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that he was still dreaming and any minute that damn song would start again and rip him from this blissful escape of his dark reality. But the water was cool and smooth on his tongue, making him shiver even more. He suddenly felt chilled to the bone, but the blanket didn’t look appealing anymore. Or right. Daryl couldn’t even put his finger on what exactly his problem was, but his skin was too tight over his muscles and his eyes flitted over the dark room restlessly. He bit his thumb and then spat it out again, disgusted by himself.

He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath and really take the room in and not search for any possible escape routes. Daryl looked around and tried to remember the last time he had seen Paul riffling through cabinets and drawers as he had looked for something Judith could wear. But Daryl didn’t want to make any noise and wake him and whoever else resided in the trailer up.

There was the vague memory of that blonde guy, Alex, checking his temperature and shining a light into his eyes. Alex, who then had talked in hushed tones to Paul. Daryl had been out of his mind at that time, but he still could see, for fuck’s sake, and Alex giving Paul a kiss on his forehead pulsed suddenly in fresh colors through his mind.

He could live without the sight of Alex coming out of Paul’s bedroom at the sound of banging doors and cabinets.

Daryl put the glass down. Didn’t matter. Wasn’t his business anyway. He should concentrate on Negan and their fight against that bastard. Rick had been back, he knew that, had some vague memory of him as well, as he knelt beside Daryl, promising him to make that asshole and the saviors regret they had ever crossed paths with them.

Daryl’s eyes landed on a pile of clothes precariously perched on one of the chairs. They looked worn and a bit dirty. A woolen sweater caught his eyes and Daryl plugged it out of the stack. It was a big, once white and now faded greyish monstrosity with some patterns in green, but it felt soft between his rough fingers. Without thinking, he pulled it over his head. It was as warm as it looked. Daryl pulled the collar up, snuggling deeper into the material as he made his way back to the couch. The short amount of time he had been walking around was already wearing him down. Fuck, he was getting old. He slipped back under the blanket, pulling it tight around his body, when he suddenly recognized the smell that still clung to the sweater. Paul. This was Paul’s sweater. It was just the same comforting scent that he had begun to associate with the little ninja. Earthy, fresh and simply Paul. Daryl swallowed. He should take it off again. But he actually didn’t want to. Fuck it. Paul would just have to deal with it. Shouldn’t have bothered with him anyway.

Daryl slumped down on the couch again, still feeling cold. In his mind, Negan leaned in close again and asked, what his name was. Daryl twisted, shaking his head. _We’re on easy street …_ He buried his head in his arms. A nauseating wave of old vomit and piss suddenly filled his nose and he sat up again. His hands trembled and he pulled the blanket up around him. Stood up. Walked three steps. Curled against the couch on the floor. _Who are you?_ Daryl got up again, his breath in rapid puffs as he settled back on the couch. Too soft. Too warm. _You don’t scare easy! I love that!_

Daryl didn’t get any air into his lungs, everything stank. The buried his head into his chest, trying to block out the stench. And then he slowly realized that there wasn’t piss or shit or vomit tainting the air. He inhaled the pure scent of Paul. Slowly his heart calmed down. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and the memories of his cell slowly faded. 

He sat there for a long time, slowly breathing in and out. His breath was the only thing in the quiet of the night; that and the song echoing through his head. Sleep wouldn't come for a long time, Daryl knew that.

Just then, a door opened quietly. He twisted around and saw Paul coming out of his bedroom, loose pants and an oversized shirt hanging rumpled around his frame.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t wanna wake ya”, rasped Daryl. Of course he had managed to wake Paul up with his antics. But Paul came over, shaking his head. 

“No, can’t sleep anyway. My head is running hundred miles a minute. I’m trying to come up with a plan how we could survive the winter and feed the damn saviors.” He flopped onto the couch and rubbed his face. “I worry about Maggie and her pregnancy and I worry about Rick and his temper with the other communities and I worry about how we could get our hands on guns again and –“ He took a deep breath and forced a smile on his face. “At least I don’t have to worry about you anymore. How are you?”

Daryl dropped his head. Paul had put himself in danger just to get him. Had worried about him. The guilt about that twisted in Daryl’s stomach like a nest of snakes. "Fine."

“Do you mind if I’m turning on some light?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah. Can’t sleep anyway.” He felt Paul’s eyes on him and sweat broke out across his back. But Paul thankfully didn’t ask anything, just hummed softly as he lit a solar-powered camping lamp. There was a bit of shuffling and Daryl finally glanced up. Paul sat against the armrest of his side of the couch, a book open in his lap. Daryl pushed the blanket over so they could share the heat underneath it, his knees drawn up so he wouldn’t accidentally touch Paul.

After a moment of silently watching Paul in the light like a creep, Daryl felt his mouth speak. “Whatcha readin’?”

Paul glanced up, a small smile playing on his lips. The lamp threw sharp shadows over his face, but he still looked … good. Good, nothing else. Least of all nothing cheesy like _beautiful_.

“ _The Drawing of the Three_. It’s the second book from the series _The Dark Tower_ by Stephen King. As a teen I was oddly fascinated by it. Now, I thinks it’s more of a possible outcome of our own world in some years.”

Daryl furrowed his brows. “Ain’t that the same guy, who wrote _Pet Cemetery_?”

Paul threw him a curious glance. “You read it?”

Daryl shifted, suddenly uncertain if he should continue down that pitiful path. Paul sat right there, looking intently at him and it hit Daryl that he never really told Paul anything about himself or the way he grew up. Just the funny little stories that actually weren’t so funny at all. But he wanted Paul to know. It would do nothing to change what had happened to him, but he wanted to tell Paul nevertheless. It was a very weird, but overwhelming urge and maybe his brain was still not coherent enough after being kept in a dark room full of his own stink, because Daryl actually opened his mouth again.

“Just started readin’ it, was maybe twelve or so. Merle had been away, don’t know anymore where to. Probably with his druggie friends selling meth and bangin’ some whores. So it was just my old man and me and in these days, he was mostly too drunk to do more than watch TV or fall asleep in front of it. I could mostly do what I wanted and it was quite nice.” 

Daryl paused, plugging at a hangnail. Paul didn’t prod him for more and he was thankful for the comforting silence. He hadn’t actually planned on going on about the damn book in such details and vomit that old sentimental bullshit all over Paul, but something about sitting on the couch and under the blanket made him _soft_. A sudden bitter laugh escaped Daryl at the ironic thought. “One evenin’, Merle was back again. Pa was in a stupor in front of the TV, I don’t think he even noticed that Merle was home again. Or that he was gone for days, dunno. Merle came into our room, saw me readin’ on the bed. He laughed at me and grabbed the book. Why I was readin’ like some pussy instead of doin’ somethin’ useful like goin’ out huntin’ for dinner. He grabbed me by my neck and put me in a headlock, said to drive that softie side out of me before I became a fag, a real cocksucker reading such pussy books, ruffled my hair while still laughin’. I had to promise him to never bring any shitty books back into the house. Least of all not ‘bout _pets_. Well, I never did. Didn’t even told him that it was a horror story. I actually burned the book the next night. Never read it to the end.”

Silence settled heavy around them. Daryl wanted to twitch. Get up and out. Have a smoke. God, he _itched_ for a cigarette. “I’m sorry, Daryl”, said Paul softly.

Daryl threw him a quick glance, feeling suddenly very naked under the shirt and the blanket. “Don’t be, doesn’t matter anymore. Merle’s been an asshole, but he still was my brother.”

“I actually meant that you never could finish that book, because it is quite good”, Paul grinned cheekily. Daryl’s heart fluttered stupidly at that sight. But he knew that Paul probably wasn’t done with his questions, not after he had mentioned so much without going into details. However, he didn’t feel like going there tonight. So he jerked his head towards the book that lay open in Paul’s lap, and asked: “What’s this one about?”

Paul didn’t mention Daryl’s absolutely unsubtly change of the object and picked up the book again. “There is this guy, Roland, he is the last of his kind. A gunslinger in a dying world, trying to safe it somehow.”

 _You’re the last man standing, Daryl. You gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone._ Beth and her rebellious streak after they had been forced from the prison. The little hut and moonshine, drunken declarations and the fuck-off to his old man’s lifestyle somewhere in between. Daryl’s eyes prickled. He turned away, facing the dark kitchen while stretching under the blanket.

Paul’s voice washed over him as he continued: “He himself is dying from an infection, at some godforsaken beach, where lobster-like creatures crawl over the sand at night, trying to eat him alive. That’s how he loses some of his fingers and toes. But he moves on, going down the beach and finds three doors leading to New York into different times. Each door is connected with a person that could become his friends if he draws them into his world.”

Daryl lifted his head. “There are doors. On a beach?”

Paul grinned and shrugged. “That’s King. You just have to roll with it sometimes.” He was silent for a moment and then asked, almost shyly, but Daryl was sure that couldn’t be, because Paul could never be shy about anything: “Want me to read it to you?”

Daryl flopped back down, now staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, why not.” At least, Paul’s voice would drown out those maddening memories of Beth and Merle and his old man shouting his soul out at Daryl while whipping his useless piece of a son.

Paul began reading, his voice low and soft, and although Daryl had no idea about the story in general, he was hooked. Hooked by Paul’s voice that engulfed him like a blanket and covered him in strange but still beautiful words. They strung a chord somewhere deep down inside him and he suddenly felt both light and weighed down. It was weird. “ _For every mother who ever cursed God for her child dead in the road, for every father who ever cursed the man who sent him away from the factory with no job, for every child who was ever born to pain and asked why, this is the answer. Our lives are like these things I build. Sometimes they fall down for a reason, sometimes they fall down for no reason at all._ ”

Something warm pushed itself between Daryl’s left side and the couch cushions and Daryl’s hand automatically fell on it. Paul’s foot drew lazy circles on Daryl’s ribcage, while he read out loud, without realizing what he did. Daryl didn’t bother. It was an anchor that held him here, in the trailer, with Paul sitting opposite him, reading, and before long, Daryl’s breathing evened out, lulled by warmth and _Paul._

+++

“Here.”

A bowl of hot soup was pushed into his hands. Daryl grunted as he stirred it with his spoon. The broth was thin, more water than anything else with a little vegetables in it. The dried venison had been eaten weeks ago, Rick had told him as he stopped by earlier that day to fill Daryl in on everything. He should go out hunting soon, see if he could get lucky. He had to get creative, though. That scar-faced fucker still had his crossbow. Maybe he would start on some snares tomorrow. Daryl itched to get his hands working again. Sitting around idly was driving him up the walls, although he was glad to be in the quietness of the trailer and not over at the house. Their neighbor’s little baby had cried almost all day, but that was okay. It filled his head with something different than his own thoughts – or worse, with that damn song.

Paul slumped down on the couch beside him, sighing and propping his feet up on the little coffee table. Daryl didn’t mind. He actually liked it, the quiet moments they had to themselves in the trailer.

Paul usually got up early in the morning and came back late in the evenings, always dirty and tired from the work on the crops. There wasn’t much to be done now, but they tried anyway to fill their storage somehow. 

Daryl had wasted his days sleeping. It was as though his body tried to catch up on every minute of missed sleep. Or better, exhausting himself with his own thoughts and nightmares enough to fall into a coma-like slumber, from which he woke gasping most of the time. He needed to get out, he needed to do something, keep his mind from swirling back to that cell. Of course, Dr. Carson had come over and put instantly a stop to his plans to join Paul outside in the fields and get his hands dirty again. But there wasn’t much that could hold Daryl inside. Least not some little cuts and bruises. The only thing that really pissed off Daryl and kept him from running around outside was that he was so damned tired all the time. Thankfully Maggie had saved him from going nuts in his own head with her visit, bringing Michonne along with her. Later Rick had stopped by and they had a short meeting in the kitchen, filling Daryl in on the plans so far. Which was waiting for some Deanna on how she would decide if and how this other settlement, Alexandria, would join them in their fight against Negan, which was just frustrating as hell. Sitting around and waiting for the saviors to show up with nothing to counter. He hated it, but they actually couldn’t do more. Rick hadn’t dared to stay longer at Alexandria in case the saviors came back unannounced. Finding out that Hilltop was trying to cooperate with other communities would ruin their advance of surprise, sadly. Paul had jumped in and suggested that he could go out on runs and checking with Alexandria, since he could maneuver his way to the other community almost unseen. Daryl had nearly choked on his own breath. Paul had just come back from risking his life for Daryl’s sorry ass and now he wanted to go out again? Alone? He would have none of that bullshit.

Thankfully Rick had interfered and said before they did anything, they should wait for Carol, who hadn’t returned yet. That didn’t sit right with Daryl. What if something happened to her? What if the saviors got her too? What if that _King_ did something? Someone, who called himself a king was not to be trusted, in Daryl’s opinion. But Michonne had remarked that their agreed timeframe wasn’t over yet and they should have a little faith in Carol. Daryl’s fraying brain had been calmed a bit by that reminder, because Carol sure as hell could watch out for herself. _Just remember Terminus_ , he thought with a wry grin. She was badass.

So the day had been spent with mostly talking, which was tiring and then everybody left, because obviously Paul had offered his trailer for Daryl to stay and no one had questioned it. Sure, being squished inside the house with all the other residents made Daryl’s skin crawl just by thinking about it. On the other hand, he now had seriously too much time alone with the other man and that made his skin crawl even more.

“You ok?”

Daryl quickly glanced over to Paul sitting on the other end of the couch, a safe distance between them. He hummed as he slurped the hot broth. Warmth blossomed from his belly into his arms and legs. “’s good.”

Paul chuckled. “It’s just thin soup, Daryl, nothing special.”

“’s better than fuckin’ dog food.” Daryl could practically feel the moment Paul’s eyes burned into him and heat rose in his cheeks as he noticed just what he had said. He had not said a single word about what had happened at the Sanctuary to Rick or Maggie. Not about the cell, not about the dog food, not about the fucking song. That was over and he was done with it, didn’t need to remember one second of it, so why retelling every bit of shit? But here with Paul, it had just slipped out like the easiest thing in the world.

“That what they gave you?”, Paul asked with a quiet voice and Daryl just couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t want to see the pity and the disgust in there. The silence stretched between them with neither Daryl nor Paul saying another word or moving an inch. Then there was the soft click and the shift on the cushions as Paul leaned over to put his bowl on the little coffee table. Daryl froze. Paul would say something. Do something. Taking pity or kicking him out. 

The cushions close to him sank in as Paul shifted over. Nimble fingers pried the empty bowl from his fingers and Daryl suddenly felt drifting without an anchor to keep him in place.

“Daryl, look at me.”

He didn’t want to, but Daryl lifted his head nevertheless. Those big crystal eyes bore into his. He suddenly missed his long hair with a vehemence that was almost physical. Paul’s eyes stripped him bare until there was nothing left, just the raw and ugly shreds of his being. He pulled the collar of Paul’s knitted sweater – the same he had pulled on in the first night and not shed it once since then – over his chin, ducking his head a bit, but he really couldn’t tear his eyes away from Paul’s.

“You do know that you didn’t deserve that, right? Nothing of it.”

Daryl huffed. He had fucked up so many things in his life. He hadn’t been able to safe Sophia. Hadn’t been able to defend the prison against the fucking Governor. Hadn’t been able to find Merle back in Atlanta after Rick had tied him to that roof. Hadn’t been able to safe his mother from his father. Failure after failure, ending right here, with some loons forcing them onto their knees, because Daryl was careless enough not to question the existence of some idiots on bikes making claims in the name of someone called Negan.

A warm hand on his forehead startled him out of his thoughts. Paul sat too close to him. Daryl could feel the warmth of his body. Paul’s fingers traced softly the fresh, nastily twisted scar on his forehead again. It felt nice, having Paul this close. _Touching_ Daryl. “This all happened, because of me. I’m so sorry, Daryl. They wouldn’t have taken you, if I would just have kept my damn mouth shut.”

Daryl flushed. He had thrown himself between Paul and that bat without a second thought. It had been fucking stupid, but he couldn’t have stood it any other way. Dante had been lying there and the instant Daryl had seen Negan holding that damn bloodied bat, he had known that this guy would not hesitate to use it as often as he could. He knew how people looked that liked to beat the living shit out of others.

“Was nothing.” _I’d do it again._ He didn’t say it. Paul looking at him like that made his heart stutter and his mouth was even more incapable than usual to spit out the right words.

“No, it wasn’t, Daryl. I’m sorry it took me so long to get you out.” Paul’s fingers were still at his temple, caressing slightly and toying with the short strands of his hair. He was so close Daryl could count his lashes. He should push him away, get some space between, stop this nonsense. He wanted to squirm, brush everything off and leave the couch to _breathe_ again, but Paul’s eyes pinned him to this place. Daryl fumbled with the collar. What would he give for a smoke right now.

“’s alright, Paul. Ya came. Although ya hadn’t to. I would’ve gotten out myself. Was no need to risk yer little ass for me.”

Paul’s lips stretched into a quick smile, there and gone again, replaced with an unreadable expression. Daryl suddenly wanted to bury his face against Paul’s neck and breathe him in. Settle the worry in these eyes. Calm his own thundering heart. Make sure that, yes, this was real, not one of his feverish dreams in his cell. 

“I would have never forgiven myself if that bastard – I couldn’t just leave you there with that monster. You were injured. Because of _me_. I would be dead just like … I thought he killed you. The moment you fell and just lay there, I thought I would never see you open your eyes again. So of course I went in there. I would have gone as often as it would have taken me to find you.” The words were quiet and shaky, but hung heavy between them. Something coiled in Daryl’s stomach, hot and wild. His breath stuttered, because no one had ever said such things and looked at him as though he was worth more than the world. As though it would truly break their hearts if Daryl wouldn’t come back again.

Paul’s eyes flickered down to where that embarrassingly ragged breath had escaped Daryl’s lips. When they flitted back up, they looked darker, almost heady. Daryl’s head was spinning. The fingers were still in his hair, burning like Paul’s eyes. Daryl couldn’t breathe. The heat inside him became almost too much, choking him, and his heart was beating too fast.

Paul’s eyes dropped again to his mouth and Daryl couldn’t help it. His own eyes watched those pink, slightly parted lips. The tip of a tongue poked out, swiping over them and leaving them glossed over.

“They were playing this damn song day in ‘n day out”, he suddenly rasped.

Paul’s eyes snapped back up and suddenly Daryl could draw in a breath again. The heat had left Paul’s green-blue irises, replaced by something akin to dread. Whatever had been between them moments ago wasn’t gone, now it felt warm instead of smoldering hot. “What song?”, Paul asked and his voice sounded rough.

“Dunno. Some up-beat hippie shit. Can still hear it.” Daryl tapped a finger to his head.

Paul hummed. “You wanna hear another to get rid of it? Heard it was the only cure.” There was a sparkle in Paul’s eyes and with that, Daryl was familiar with, knew how to handle that cockiness, although it always had him left helpless and confused whenever Paul had thrown that look at him. But that version of Paul was predictable. 

Daryl raised his brows. “Ya gonna sing for me?”, he asked and couldn’t help the smirk that crept on his own face.

At that, Paul smiled back, bright and radiant. “If you want me to. I promise not to bring out the naughty ones, though.” Paul’s smile turned soft, as he leaned back against the couch. Daryl missed the touch of his fingers in his hair immediately, but he leaned back into the corner of the cushions, resting his head at the back of the couch, drinking in the sight of Paul, still close to him, with his arm outstretched. His fingers drew patterns in the cushion, close to Daryl’s tugged up knee.

Paul hesitated a moment, then he actually opened his mouth to sing: “ _Hey hey, my my, rock’n’roll can never die._ ”

Paul’s voice was soft and suddenly the tension was back. Daryl hadn’t been serious about the singing, but he couldn’t deny that it was beautiful. Paul had a nice singing voice, rich with a hint of smokiness around the edges. The skin on Daryl’s arms crunched up in goosebumps.

“ _There’s more to the picture, than meets the eye. Hey hey, my my. Out of the blue, into the black. You paid for this and they give you that._ ” Paul’s eyes were on him again, like some endless skies over blue water. Daryl felt himself drowning in them. “ _Once you gone, you can’t come back. You’re out of the blue, into the black._ ” The hand that drew the patterns into the cushions bumped into the side of Daryl’s leg. One time. Two times. Three times. “ _King is gone, is not forgotten. Is this the tale of Johnny Rotten?_ ” Paul paused. His breath was drawn in, but he didn’t continue with the song. He looked at Daryl as if asking something, but Daryl had absolutely no clue about what. He didn’t care either way. Paul could have done anything right now. Daryl would have followed.

When Paul breathed out the next words, his voice was shaky, breathless and he dropped his eyes down to the hand that now drew its patterns on Daryl’s knee. Daryl swallowed. “ _It’s better to burn out than fade away. King is gone, is not forgotten._ ” Paul looked up again, but it was so slowly and heated that Daryl’s heart stuttered again and then beat with a frantic pace. Suddenly the sweater was too tight and too hot. Daryl’s breath came out in undignified puffs. 

“ _Hey hey, my my, rock’n’roll can never die._ ” Paul leaned slightly forward, his eyes darker, although Daryl had no idea if that was just the limited oxygen in his brain. There just wasn’t enough _air_. 

“ _There’s more to the picture, than meets the eye_ ”, Paul sang softly, almost inaudible. He was now so fucking close again and Daryl just should lean back, bring distance between him and these orbits of burning blue, but he couldn’t move an inch. Could only stare as the last syllables slipped out between Paul’s lips in a hushed whisper: “ _Hey hey. My my._ ”

Daryl could feel the words as puffs of breath on his face. Paul was warm before him and his scent hit Daryl full-force. That ridiculous urge to grab him and pull him even closer was back with an intensity that made Daryl’s head spin again. Or maybe that was just the missing oxygen, because Daryl had no idea when he had taken the last breath. The hand on his knee dug into his skin as Paul used him to anchor himself, as though he would drift off just like Daryl if he so much as moved.

“Daryl.”

His name had never been whispered like that. With such longing. Heat exploded in Daryl’s stomach, coiled up and sprang free, only to settle heavy in his gut.

Daryl’s hand moved on its own towards Paul. To tug him closer. To touch him back. To keep him there, with Daryl – 

_BAM. BAM. BAM._

Everything shattered. Paul jerked back so violently that he slipped off the couch and onto the floor with a thud. “Fuck”, he hissed, but was back on his feet before Daryl could help him up.

 _BAM. BAM._ “Jesus? You there?”, a voice called out. Young. Strangely choked.

Daryl sprung up as well, following Paul to the door, which he just pulled open. Outside stood a boy, maybe eight years old. Daryl recalled vaguely his face. With the door wide open, the cries of the baby next door came in louder.

“Jesus, please!”, the boy sobbed, before practically slumping down in Paul’s arms. Paul threw an alarmed glance over his shoulder at Daryl, who stood awkwardly a step behind.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”, Paul asked and pulled the boy inside. That seemed to startle him out of his short fit.

“Maria, she can’t – Mateo won’t stop, we don’t know – he cries and cries and won’t stop –“

“Ok, breathe, Carlos. Look at me.”

The boy hiccupped, but stared up at Paul nevertheless. Carlos. The grinning boy from the trailer next to Paul’s. Daryl had seen him once or twice before Negan the big fucker had come down on them like one of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He lived there with his older sister and big brother - Dante. Daryl bit his thumb. He wanted to smash something. Badly. Preferably Negan’s face. _That fucker_.

“Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Mateo, he’s been crying all day and Maria, she can’t calm him down. We tried singing and walking and his little teddy bear and the squeaking shoe, but he wouldn’t stop –“

“Have you been to Dr. Carson?”

“Y-yes, but he says, Mateo pr-probably gets his teeth –“

Daryl didn’t wait to hear the end of it. He already pushed past the boy and Paul out of the trailer.

“Hey, Daryl! Wait!”, Paul called after him, and soon footsteps came closer until Paul was at his side with Carlos hot on his heels. The cries got agonizingly louder as they stepped up the stairs of the other trailer, Carlos wiggling his way between them and pushing the door open hastily.

Inside, Maria, a young Hispanic woman, tried to sooth a crying toddler. Sheer despair was written on her face as she rocked her little son, singing softly to him, but the little man just wouldn’t calm down. Maria looked up, as they entered. Dark circles hung under her eyes and her hair was a tangled mess. 

Daryl slowly moved over, motioning towards the baby. “Can I?”

He had never really spoken a word with Maria before, but she handed her son over wordlessly. At this point, she just seemed relieved that she wasn’t alone with the crying baby. Daryl cradled him in the crook of his arm, just like he had with Judith that first night after she had been born, crying her lungs out herself for something to eat. The boy thrashed in his arm, wriggling and throwing his head back.

“Hey, Lil Rocker, everythin’s fine. No need to cry.” 

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Maria sinking down on some chair supported by Paul. They both watched him like hawks.

The little boy cried even louder and Daryl quickly sucked the little finger of his right hand clean and then gently poked it against the soft gums of the boy in his arms. “C’mon. It gets easier, Lil Rocker. C’mon.”

At first, the boy simply ignored the finger in his mouth, but Daryl kept rubbing over the seemingly aching gums and finally, the Lil Rocker got the hang of it. He hiccupped, blinked and then sucked and chewed without teeth at his finger. “There ya go. Wasn’t hard, eh?”

He glanced up briefly to check on the boy’s mother, but his eyes found Paul all on their own. The look on Paul’s face hit him like a fucking freight train square in the chest. Daryl couldn’t even decipher the emotions that were plastered there so openly and yet still so confusing that Daryl was sure to read it all wrong. He flushed bright red, he could practically feel the color rise from his chest up to his hairline. His heart hammered against his ribcage so fiercely that he was sure the boy in his arm would shake wildly with the frantic beat. Daryl dropped his eyes back down.

It just couldn’t be. Paul couldn’t really mean him with that look of … of affection? Longing? _Hunger?_

Nobody had ever stripped Daryl to the bones with just one look and made him feel warm and special. No one was ever able to ignite that same hunger and heat in his stomach while standing a mile away at the other end of a room. Daryl looked down at the baby in his arm that now contently munched at his finger. He felt his skin prickle and knew that it was because Paul watched him with those eyes. The back of his neck felt still hot and he had a hard time to remember how to swallow.

“Ay mios dios! I don’t believe it! It didn’t even take you five minutes to calm him down!”

Daryl actually startled as Maria appeared out of thin air next to him. He had almost forgotten that she was here as well. That it wasn’t him and Paul and the baby.

“He just needs somethin’ to chew on.”

“Oh God, I can’t believe it, I tried everything! Thank you, really, you’re such a lifesaver!” She was on her tiptoes faster than Daryl could react and planted a kiss on his cheek. Daryl just stood there and stared back.

“You should probably rest a bit”, Paul said, moving from the table, where Maria had sat. “We could watch him for the night, while you try to catch up on some sleep.”

Maria glanced at the Lil Rocker in Daryl’s arm, then Daryl and Paul. “Are you serious? I really could use some sleep now, but if he wakes again – and I really don’t want to bother you –“

“I’m here”, Daryl said gruffly. He still tried not to rub off the lingering feeling of her kiss as though it was some grease stain. He glanced up at Paul, feeling quiet safe to do so after Maria’s outburst had broken the tension. “Ya should sleep as well.”

“But Daryl-“

“Ya had been workin’ yer ass off all day. Ya should rest, Paul.”

“What about you? You’re still recovering.”

“I’m fine. Can’t sleep most nights anyway.” Especially not this night, he was sure. He had no idea what had suddenly shifted between him and Paul, but something definitely did. There was a crack in a once more or less smooth surface and Daryl was sure that it would break open at the slightest nudge. He didn’t know he could stomach that. Didn’t know he could really face it, with all consequences. God, he needed some air to breathe and get his head straight again. Needed time to really think about all this, because what if he had thought there was something, when in reality there was nothing. 

“You really sure?” Paul stood by his side, glancing down at Lil Rocker. His right hand was buried in the rag around his left wrist. Daryl’s rag. He swallowed.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded wrecked. Daryl had no idea what was wrong with him. Paul didn’t even look at him right now.

Then Paul lifted his head and these pools of sea glass bore into his own eyes again. “Alright. Just come over, when you need something.”

“Sure.”

Paul stood there, looking at him with that same expression again, as if asking a question Daryl didn’t know the answer to.

“Oh, you can sleep here, Jesus”, offered Maria. She came back into the living room/kitchen area. “I tugged Carlos in. He is exhausted. Probably like all of us.” She laughed softly. “Is this really alright with you?”, she asked Daryl again.

He nodded and she gave him a tired smile. “I’ll crash on the couch, but there is a comfy rocking chair right over there.”

“Thank you, Maria, but I’ll head over to mine again. Have a good night.”

“Thank you. And thank you again for coming over.” She hugged him quickly, but without kissing Paul’s cheek. 

“You’re welcome.” Paul turned around again and smiled at Daryl. It was small and quick and Daryl had the feeling something was amiss. “Good night, Daryl.” He squeezed Daryl’s uninjured shoulder briefly, then turned around to leave the trailer. 

Daryl watched him, trying to figure out what just happened. He wanted to ask Paul, but didn’t want to do it with Maria around. He wanted to pull Paul back inside. He wanted to follow him, stay close to him. He felt strangely detached as he watched Paul going out of the trailer’s door. He wanted to be back on their couch, he wanted Paul to sing again for him, to have him close again. This time he would actually dig his fingers into the soft fabric of Paul’s shirt, making sure he wouldn’t pull away. And let Paul do whatever he wanted to do in that moment. Without a knock interrupting them.

But he didn’t move. 

“Night Paul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul's song can be found here (I love this version): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbeIv39s04s
> 
> The quote I used for Paul's reading is actually from the book mentioned there (The Drawing of the Three by Stephen King; if you haven't read it, I recommend it to you!); it's said by mafia boss building a house of cards as some kind of meditation while he knows shit's going to hit the fan.


	14. The Quarry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be gentle with Maria. If you were in her spot, you would do exactly the same, wouldn't you? ;-)

Daryl cut through the fur on the little rabbit that had been caught by his snare and gutted the animal expertly. He flung the entrails on the forest floor and laid the rabbit to the two squirrels, the only other rabbit he had caught and the five quails he had practically stumbled upon. It was a meagre catch for such a large community as Hilltop.

His breath drifted white before his eyes as Daryl stood again, shouldering the game hanging from a thin rope, and set out again. It would be dusk soon. The days now were noticeably shorter and the nights cold enough to leave a fine dust of frost on the ground and the windows of the house and trailers.

Daryl squinted between the tree branches at the sky. It would soon be too dark to really hunt, so it was either hole up for the night somewhere around and stay the night outside. Or got back to Hilltop. Daryl actually didn’t want to go back. He had been out in the forest for three days now and he hadn’t even found a broken twig that hinted at the possible presence of a deer or a wild boar. Showing up with just this sad excuse of something to eat gnawed at him. 

And at Hilltop, there was Maria. Daryl didn’t seem able to avoid her. She just appeared and Daryl swore even Paul with all his ninja moves couldn’t master her way of plopping into existence next to Daryl. She always smiled, asked if she could get him something, if he needed something, if she just could give him this jacket she found and thought might fit him, or that pair of boots, which had been Dante’s, but she hadn’t been able to give them away just yet until now.

It was fucking irritating and if it weren’t for the Lil Rocker in her arms, who now chewed happily on a teething ring one of the other women had found somewhere in Barrington House, he really would have snapped at her by now. Daryl didn’t mind watching over Lil Rocker – Mateo – but Maria had the talent to show up at Paul’s trailer door at the most inconvenient times. First, when Daryl had been back at Paul’s trailer the day after he had slept over at Maria’s to watch the Lil Rocker chew and suck himself into a deep sleep. Daryl had spent that day with making his snares and trying together with Earl to come up with a good slingshot and ammunition. Paul had been gone and helped to prepare everything for the saviors, who would come the next day. (So far, their cover-up bike accident hadn’t triggered any search parties led by the saviors, but Daryl wouldn’t take any chance and would vanish into the hidden cellars under the House, so it would stay that way.) In the evening Paul was back, standing first awkwardly at the door, before finally he came over, inspecting the snares on the table.

“Have you been doing arts and crafts all day?”, Paul had asked with that typical smirk on his lips.

Daryl had huffed. “Fuck off. Not everyone can play in the hay all day.”

That had made Paul smile even wider. “You thinking about me rolling around in the hay, Dixon?”

Daryl had flushed beet red. He hadn’t meant it like that, but now the image was in his head and he hadn’t been able to shake it off. Paul had seemed to sense the shift in the air; the playfulness replaced by something serious. They had looked at each other like idiots with Daryl unable to say a fucking word to get that smile back on Paul’s face.

“Look, Daryl, about the other night … I, uhm … that was –“

Daryl now wondered about what Paul had wanted to tell him that evening about what had happened the night prior, how badly he had fucked up, before the knocking on the door had interrupted Paul once again. It had been Maria and she really had been sorry, but some water pipe just broke in her trailer and now half of the kitchen was flooded. Daryl had spent the night at hers again, trying to fix a broken pipe under the sink.

The next time had been while he tried to talk some sense into Paul’s stubborn skull. The idiot wanted to go on a run, when Daryl could actually feel it in his bones that the weather would turn bad. And Daryl wasn’t able to back him up, because Rick had wanted Daryl to check out some quarry with him as well. Paul hadn’t listened, or at least he had countered every argument that Daryl brought forward with earnest eyes that drove Daryl up the wall.

Then Maria had been there, seemingly oblivious about the strained air between Paul and Daryl. In her hands she had held a thick jacket, the same Daryl was wearing now. “For when you go out with Rick”, she had said and smiled at him.

Paul, the prick, had used that to end their argument. “I’ll be back in a week the latest. I’m getting you a matching hat to that jacket, Daryl.” With a last wink that had left Daryl red and speechless with fury, Paul had vanished out of the gates of Hilltop.

That had been now five days ago. On the first, Daryl had been occupied with Rick and the trip to the quarry. Or at least, that had been the plan. They had stumbled upon a truck, camouflaged with old tree branches and long dead leaves, filled to the rim with military gear. They had spent the day going through everything, checking weapons and TAC vests and making an inventory list. They decided to take back only the radios they found, camouflaging the truck once again. This was the first significant step towards their fight against Negan. Checking out the quarry was postponed.

On the second day, Daryl and Earl had tried out several types of slingshots, until they both were satisfied with the outcome. Daryl yearned for his crossbow, but that would be impossible to replace. Maria had plopped up several times during the day to bring them something warm to drink or some leaves of stale bread. That evening Daryl had been watching Mateo again, this time with Carlos as well. Maria’s help was needed at the house, where several women and some men were trying to convert various sheets and stuffing they had found or turn them into actual comforters. Since that would be something they intended not to give over to the saviors, it had to be done as quickly and as secretly as possible. At least Rick had come over, looking confused as to why Daryl wasn’t at Paul’s trailer, but then he had smiled as if he knew some joke Daryl didn’t get. They had discussed a plan to check out the quarry again, but Daryl had put a stop to that. He needed to get out of here. He needed to _hunt_. Rick of course understood.

So here he was, four days later. Four days to himself and the satisfying task of tracking down animals with the cold fingers of the wind in his short hair and frost in his lungs. Six days since he last had seen Paul. It seemed like an eternity. 

Being out in the woods alone unfortunately didn’t occupy his own head enough to be quiet. The fucking song wasn’t as present as it used to be anymore, although the melody sometimes crept into his dreams. It had been mostly replaced with that other song, the one Paul had sung for him. Daryl didn’t know the name of it, but he was sure to have heard it before, a long time ago. With the memory of that song came the image of Paul sitting across from him, drawing patterns on his knee. Leaning closer, ghosting his breath over Daryl’s face. Eyes big and deep like pools, ready to pull Daryl under. The heat ignited always in his belly at these thoughts. It wound itself deep inside him, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It prickled at the base of his spine whenever Daryl remembered how close they had been. Just a few inches and they would have kissed.

Daryl flushed at the thought alone.

Him kissing Paul wasn’t a new thought, although he had never imagined it that vividly. It had been his fantasy of shutting that chatterbox up on so many occasions, because Daryl couldn’t bear to hear another faked innuendo. He had imagined that baffled look on Paul’s face; the smirk wiped right off it. He had imagined Paul keeping his distance after Daryl would actually pull through with his plan, too embarrassed or disgusted to pretend any more.

What Daryl had never imagined was Paul wanting to kiss him as well. At least, on the couch, it had looked like hell as though he had wanted to. Daryl wasn’t dumb. He got the hints when somebody was about to press their lips to his. The thing was, he had never felt so not-freaked out by the prospect.

Daryl shook his head. He needed to get this out of his mind or he would run into the next walker absorbed in thoughts about things that did not happen, which wouldn’t be healthy either way. He looked down at the few animals on his rope and sighed. He was wasting daylight. With long strides he finally walked towards the direction of Hilltop. It was no use crawling around the woods for another cold night to come up empty-handed. Better bring in the haul and start anew in a few days. Maybe Paul would be back.

Daryl crossed a dirt road, then stopped at the other side. This road led to the quarry Rick and he had wanted to check. Daryl glanced up at the sky again. Maybe one, one and a half hours of light left. It couldn’t hurt to take a look, at least they would know if it would be worth a second visit. Daryl fell into a trot, moving his way up the road until the trees declined and the ground opened up before him. The quarry was gigantic, maybe up to three football fields wide and just so fucking deep that Daryl couldn’t see the ground from where he was standing a couple of yards away from the brim. There was a strange sound coming out of its depths, though. The wind pushed around Daryl, carrying the sound away, as he stepped closer and peered over the edge.

Walkers. Thousands of them.

The wind danced around again and now hit Daryl full-force in his face. The stench was nauseating. Daryl gagged, fumbling for Paul’s bandana that was no longer there. His eyes watered with the suffocating smell of rotting flesh.

The walkers moved senselessly around, moaning and stumbling over stones and machineries. Daryl couldn’t see much in the dying light, but the whole floor was crawling with them, up the ramps for the vehicles, in between the conveyor systems. As he watched, three walkers came out of the woods on the other side, drawn in by the sound of the masses below. They simply shuffled closer until they fell over the brim into the quarry. There was a short commotion, but as soon as the dead realized that nothing living had fallen at their feet, they resumed their senseless antics.

Daryl’s eyes followed the ramps. There were two of them that led up and over the brim eventually. Both were blocked with containers and truck trailers. They looked old and rusty, probably had been there since things turned upside down. One trailer was already balancing precariously close to the edge of the ramp. If it slipped entirely off, a horde with unimaginable numbers would be set loose. And Hilltop wasn’t far away.

Daryl took a step back. This was a ticking time bomb. If the walkers inside this quarry would get on their trail, everybody was doomed. Daryl didn’t even know if running would safe them then.

_Wraaahh!_

Daryl whipped around so fast that his neck cracked loudly. Dead hands were grabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull him forward into snapping jaws. Daryl kicked the walker in the gut. It burst open like an overripe plum and spilled its insides half over Daryl and half on the forest floor. 

There were two more, now closing in from the left.

Daryl ripped the knife free he carried with him and plunged it between the eyes of the first. It went down as the other two came over him, pushing at him, so he lost his footing in the slippery mess of entrails and tripped. He hit the ground with a thud and all air left his lungs. One walker was immediately over him in seconds, going for his face. Daryl drove the knife through the temple and the walker slumped down on him motionless. The other though had tried his luck with Daryl’s leg and if it weren’t for his boots, the fucker would have already bitten a piece out of his calf. Daryl couldn’t really see thanks to the walker on his chest. He just could feel the other one at his leg and then his body moved at his own accord. He didn’t know how many times Paul had shown him how to immobilize an opponent just using his legs. Daryl didn’t think. He knocked his left leg sideways to open up enough space and then pulled the walker in, crushing its windpipe with his knees and twisting until he heard a snap. A rotten skull rolled a few seconds into view, until it reached the brim and toppled over it, jumping up and down like a bouncing ball.

With a grunt, Daryl pushed off the other from his chest and threw it over as well.

Well, this explained at least the absence of walkers around Hilltop.

+++

When Daryl returned, Rick wasn’t there. He dumped the rabbits, quails and squirrels at the kitchen, where Mary eyed them gleefully and muttered something that sounded like “at least something with taste” under her breath.

Ed informed Daryl that Rick was out with Michonne, looking for more weapons. They expected them back any time soon, so Daryl just nodded and waved Sasha’s worried “What happened?” off. No need to cry wolf.

He headed over to Paul’s trailer that still was eerily empty. Paul was still out there. Daryl tried not to worry too much and dumped his boots by the door and his jacket on the couch. His body was covered in walker-parts and animal blood and his bones ached with cold. He normally wouldn’t bother, but a warm shower sounded fantastic right now.

He didn’t indulge long in the hot water, wanting to safe as much propane as possible. But his feet no longer felt like two bricks of ice as he emerged from the small stall, and his skin didn’t itch with dried blood anymore.

“Aw, fuck”, Daryl mumbled as he quickly turned his dirty clothes in his hands. The pants were torn and covered in mud and rotting flesh that stank worse than a fishing cutter. His shirt was damp with his sweat. He opened the door and kicked the soiled clothes out unceremoniously. It probably was the best to burn them later. Padding over to the pile of clothes Tara had dumped at the trailer right before he took off into the woods as a “gracious greeting from the lovely Martha” Daryl sorted through them until he found black trousers of some rough fabric. He pulled them on and was just about to shove an equally black shirt over his head as the door of the trailer opened. A gust of cold wind hit Daryl’s still bare chest.

Paul stood in the doorway, his hair tugged under his loose woolen hat and his cheeks pink from the cold. He stared at Daryl rooted to the spot.

Heat exploded in Daryl’s cheeks and he hastily pulled the fabric down. The damn thing was way too tight for him, but he would rather dive into that quarry head first than change in front of Paul again.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know …”, stammered Paul.

Before Daryl could answer, a second head appeared beside Paul’s shoulder. “Oh, you’re here!”, Maria smiled. “I’m making dinner. Mary said you brought some rabbits back. She gave me two haunches. You can come over, if you want to.” She sounded a bit breathless as she stared at him expectantly.

Daryl stared back. “Um … need to find Rick first.”

“Alright. Just come over, when you’re ready.” Maria smiled wide and genuine and it hit Daryl suddenly that she looked far more relaxed now that she got some decent hours of sleep now and then. “The shirt looks really nice on you, by the way. See you, Jesus. It’s good to have you both back.” With that, she was gone again, closing the door softly behind Paul, who hadn’t moved an inch.

“Well, looks like you got a date, man”, Paul joked, but it fell flat. His grin didn’t even made it on his face for half a second.

Daryl furrowed his brows. “Ain’t no _date_.”

“Sounded like one to me.” Paul finally moved over to the kitchen table, where he dumped his backpack. “She’s pretty”, he added with a nonchalant shrug. 

Daryl stared at his back. _What?_ “She just said, she was cookin’ somethin’ and that we could come over”, he grunted.

Paul looked over his shoulder at him with one eyebrow raised. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes felt fake as hell. “ _You_. She invited you.” He turned back around and rummaged in the backpack. “Can’t blame her, though. You are incredible with the little ones, that just melts every heart of every woman. Your looks don’t hurt either. Not in _that_.”

The last part was mumbled so quietly that Daryl almost missed it over the rushing of blood in his ears. “Paul. I don’t wanna –“

_Bang!_

The door of their trailer was thrown open so violently that Daryl and Paul spun around in unison, knives raised in their fists.

“Oh, fuck, sorry, guys!” Tara wrestled with the door that the wind kept ripping from her hands. She finally pinned it against the wooden railing with her shoulder. “Rick and Michonne are back!” She grinned broadly at them. “Carol too, and this guy from Alexandria, Aaron. Meeting’s in the house!”

Daryl let his fist with the knife sink. Carol was back. _Thank God_. At least one sane person. He threw a short glance at Paul, who looked as relieved as he felt, and then they were already after Tara, sprinting through the wind, which slowly became a full-grown storm.

“Nice shirt”, quipped Tara as she fell in line with Daryl. “Trying to impress somebody?”

Daryl rolled his eyes. What was it with this shirt everybody kept fussing over? He contemplated about turning around and change it for some loose flannel, but the meeting with Rick and Carol was more important than this bullshit.

“Fuck off, snoopy.”

Tara bumped her fist on his shoulder with a wide grin. “Suuure, sourhead.”

Daryl growled and flicked her off, climbing the stairs of Barrington House and further up to Gregory’s old office. Behind him, he could hear Tara hiss something to Paul, but he didn’t pay her any mind. She could giggle all she wanted about him. He had never understood girls and their antics anyway. 

The office was packed with people. Daryl immediately sought out Rick, who came over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Everything’s ok?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. You too?”

“Yeah.”

Before Daryl could add more like the fact that there was a quarry full of walkers just around the corner, he suddenly had his arms full of Carol. He hadn’t even seen her coming over, so it took him some time to return the fierce hug. She was here. She was _alive_.

“Thank God yer back”, he mumbled into her gray hair that was a bit longer again.

She pulled back, but still grabbed his shoulders tightly, and looked him over carefully. “He did it, Jesus got you back.” She threw her arms around his neck again, but Daryl had already seen the wetness in her eyes. She wasn’t as tough around him as she liked to think. Or maybe he just could read her very well by now.

“Course I’m back.”

Carol didn’t pull away anytime soon, but when she did, her eyes were dry again. She traced the scar on his forehead, which Negan’s bat had left, and it felt so similar and yet so totally different from Paul’s touch that Daryl didn’t know what to do. Lean into it or pull away. Before he could decide, Carol dropped her hand.

“I knew that bastard couldn’t break you. Whatever he tried with you. I knew you are stronger than him. But I’m glad, you are back anyway.” She stood on her tiptoes and quickly pecked him on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Daryl watched her for a second. He knew he could tell Carol everything, now or later, whenever he felt like it, but at the moment, he didn’t want to think about anything that had happened at the sanctuary. Maybe he would never. “Ya knew the lil’ ninja would try to get me out?”, he asked instead, leaning away to get out of her pecking range.

“The ninja?”, she repeated. The corners of her mouth quivered with suppressed laughter. Oh great. Daryl ignored it. 

“Yeah, Paul.”

“ _Paul?!_ ”

Daryl was about to just turn around and leave her if she wasn’t inclined to answer his damn question.

“He worked his ass off in order to get everything settled again after the saviors had left, to pull through with Rick’s plan to get in contact with Oceanside as fast as possible. It was Jesus, who found the other communities and brought us all together. The moment Rick proposed his plan though, he was out of the door and after the sanctuary.” Carol cocked her head and studied him with earnest eyes. “Do you know he called you his husband to Negan’s face?”

Daryl shifted as a tingling feeling crept up his back. “Negan sort of told.”

Carol raised one of her eyebrows. Daryl stared at her. He had no idea why they were having this conversation right now. “And?” The impish glint in her eyes was back.

“Whadda ya want, woman?”, Daryl huffed irritated. What was this nonsense? First Tara, but that was somewhat to be expected. And now Carol, too?

“Oh, pookie”, she cooed, “this isn’t about what I want.” Her left pointer finger tipped his chin to the right. Daryl almost swatted it away, because he felt played with and even if it was Carol, he didn’t like that in the slightest. Then his eyes connected on their own with Paul’s, who stood at the other end of the room with several people between them. But Paul stared right at him with a slightly startled expression on his face as if he had been caught red-handed doing something illegal. Then he quickly dropped his eyes back to Maggie and Glenn, who talked in hushed tones next to him. Paul’s hand went through his hair and messed it up. Daryl hadn’t noticed before just how long it really was.

“I rather think this is about what _he_ wants. And from the look of it, he wants _you_. Most likely in his bed. Naked.”

In that exact instant, Paul looked up at him again, ruffled hair falling over his shoulders in cascades, and Daryl turned away before he got caught staring like a teenager. His cheeks felt hot like coals and he knew that he probably looked red like a fucking tomato right now. “Carol!”, he hissed, but she was already out of his personal space again. She looked too smug for her own good and Daryl left her there standing, weaving through the people in the room towards the far back wall to lean against with his arms crossed. 

There had to be something in the water that suddenly drove all women completely nuts.

Thankfully, Rick rose that moment. The chatter quietened and everyone turned towards Rick with expectant eyes. Still, Daryl’s skin crawled and he itched for a damn smoke. He was out of cigarettes since the fuckers of the sanctuary had taken his clothes and with them the package Paul had given him.

As a gift for their fake marriage.

Whatever had happened, it had been _fake_. A necessity. A deal sealer.

_He wants_ you. _Most likely in his bed. Naked._

Daryl’s heart still beat a mile a minute.

It had been fake. 

_I never told you I didn’t regret being married to you, either._

Fuck, what did that even mean? Daryl never had dared to really think about it. If Paul had meant, what Daryl thought he meant. Possibly.

_But you’re one of the few that call me by my name. I like that. I like_ you. 

_Naked._

Fucking shit.

It was hard to follow Rick’s words, when his stupid brain went over these words again and again and his eyes drifted back to where Paul was standing between Maggie and Enid with Glenn right behind his wife. Daryl bit his thumb and forced himself to look at Rick, but it took a while for his ears to register the words that fell out of Rick’s mouth, too.

“Thank you for coming on such a short notice. I know, you are all tired and probably just want to get some sleep, but we have to discuss some things first. Every word we discuss here today must stay between us. If someone is uncomfortable knowing things we plan to do in regards of the saviors, he is free to leave right now. Once this door is closed, nobody leaves. Everyone else is part of the plan and therefore part of the … well … _revolt_.”

Daryl’s eyes flitted over the faces in the room. Most were his family, but there were also some people from Hilltop, like Paul and Enid, but also Marco, Kal, Ed and Bertie as well as Earl. Some faces Daryl didn’t know, like a forty-something looking guy in a strange armor, and a woman, who just looked like some frowny politician that was on the News every so often before the turn. A man with curly hair standing next to her, though, was strangely familiar.

Nobody moved. Then Maggie spoke up: “Everybody in here alright with Gregory staying as well?” Her tone was hard and unforgiving. All eyes turned around to the corner, where Gregory sat on a chair, cradling a bottle of scotch like a baby. The idiot really had some balls showing up here after practically inviting Negan into their community.

“I – I was the one, who built this community! I have every right to be here, to hear what you plan to do with it now!”, Gregory protested, head bright red. “You can’t kick me out! I am their leader!”

“No. Maggie is and you know that.” Paul had crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at Gregory with his Jesus-mask of calm finality.

Gregory sprang from the chair. “ _You!_ You are such a traitor, Jesus! I gave you a home here, I let you live here! When the world closed its doors in your face, I opened the ones of Hilltop to –“

“Yeah, just like you opened them for Negan!”, spat Maggie. Glenn pulled her back and rubbed a calming hand down her spine.

“You are such an ungrateful little bastard, Jesus”, Gregory barreled on, completely ignoring Maggie’s outburst, jabbing an accusing finger into Paul’s direction. “Without me, you would have died. Without me, you wouldn’t stand here, in this position, and in thanks you stab me in the back? Just because this filthy brute has completely turned your head –“

“Say one more word and I turn _your_ head.” The ice in Paul’s voice could have cracked steel.

“Oh right, because it hurt your little feelings, yes? As if it’s a secret that you and your _husband_ plotted against me –“

“You better leave now.” Rosita ripped the bottle from Gregory’s grip. “Door’s there.” Gregory opened his mouth. Rosita cocked her pretty head and raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Yeah, get your ass out of here, you homophobic little shithead”, added Tara as she sided up next to Rosita with crossed arms.

“I won’t tolerate –“

“Nobody tolerates _you_ anymore, Gregory”, boomed suddenly Earl’s deep voice. “Not when you keep insulting the man that had kept this community alive with endless and risky supply runs that you not once had volunteered for to join in. Not like _his husband_ had since day one. So stop the fuss and just walk out of that door or keep your mouth shut and listen to Rick.”

The following silence weighed heavily down the whole room. Daryl’s hand tapped a nervous rhythm against his leg. It took every ounce of his willpower not to move and barrel from this room, from the tension and the talking about him and Paul as if they were a real item and not some show-off-joke. His mouth suddenly tasted coppery as he bit the inside of his cheek too forceful. His eyes flitted over the faces of his family in the room – most of them looked stormy and ready to rip Gregory a new one and it suddenly hit him that they _truly believed_ that Paul and him were … 

Strangely, they defended that lie in favor of officially kicking Gregory out of the business as a leader of Hilltop.

His eyes landed on Paul all on their own. He looked just as shaken as Daryl felt. His right hand toyed with the tails of Daryl’s old red rag around his wrist. Something in Daryl twisted at the sight, hot and heady and fierce. Something that pulled him towards Paul like he was a fish hooked on a line. But he stayed plastered against the wall, his muscles unable to move.

As if sensing his stare, Paul looked up. Daryl wanted to be back at the trailer. Without any of his family around. Without the saviors looming at their backs. Without the fuss about Gregory, Negan or the thousands of walkers shuffling around in the nearby quarry. He wanted to be back there with Paul, sitting on the couch, listening to him sing, touching his knee. Leaning in close. Saying his name like Paul would die if he didn’t. Looking at him with these eyes and making Daryl forget how to fucking breathe. How to live without Daryl touching him back. Pulling him closer. Pulling him down – 

Daryl tore his eyes away. His heart was racing like mad and his groin was fucking tight.

“You will regret this! This’ll end right in a disaster!” Gregory threw his hands in the air. Unfortunately, he didn’t leave, but slumped down on his chair again.

Rick cleared his throat. “All right.” Some of the tension left the room, but Daryl could still feel the coiled anger coming from Maggie although she stood at the other end of the room with several people between them. Daryl didn’t look. Paul stood there right beside her.

“As you probably all know, we plan on fighting the saviors. We worked too hard for our survival and we won’t let someone take away half of our earnings, just because they demand it.”

“Well,” interrupted Marco, “they had pretty good arguments. As you may recall, they killed us for saying no in the first place.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten that they killed our people”, said Rick and his eyes gleamed. “Be sure I will never forget, how that bastard killed Dante. I won’t forget that he killed Beth, who had never done anything wrong, because he wanted to fuck with us. I won’t forget that he killed Abraham for standing up against him. Neither will I forget that he almost did the same to Jesus. Nor that he took away Daryl.” Rick looked around into their faces. 

“It won’t be the last time Negan’ll do that. There will always be a lection he wants us to learn. There will always be a reason for him. To take away stuff. To take away people. Friends. Families. He won’t ever have enough.”

_There is more. There is_ always _more._ The slimy biker came unbidden to Daryl’s mind.

“We need to stop them before we are too weak to strike. But we can’t do this alone. That’s why we reached out to the Kingdom and Alexandria.” Rick nodded to the frowning politician-lady and the guy in the strange armor.

“What about Oceanside?”, threw Sasha in.

Paul shifted. “Unless it would be absolutely necessary, they’re staying out of this. The saviors haven’t found them yet and if they join, they fear they’ll be a target as well.”

“So, they prefer to duck and let us do the work?”, Rosita asked, sounding somehow calm and pissed-off at the same time.

Paul sighed. “Stuart and Tess have offered us Oceanside as a safe zone. I think it would be wise to have one, especially since the saviors don’t know about them.”

“Yeah, yet.” Daryl couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut. “What if the saviors find ‘em?”

Paul’s eyes bore into Daryl’s. “They trust us to do everything that it stays that way.” Daryl heard loud and clear, what Paul was really saying. _They trust_ me _to keep them safe._ Daryl wanted to punch the wall. Why had it always to be Paul, who risked his life for others that weren’t even aware of the danger he was getting himself into? What if the saviors caught him, while he tried to protect others that weren’t ready to join a fight in the first place?

“Jesus is right. They’ll be our safe zone”, said Rick. Paul dropped his eyes, but the uneasy feeling in his gut didn’t left Daryl. “The question is, will Alexandria and the Kingdom join us?”

The politician-lady took a step forward and faced the room. “My name is Deanna Monroe. I’m the leader of Alexandria. This is Aaron, our recruiter. We always wanted to help the people, who had to fend for themselves out there alone, more surviving than living. We were not a big community, but we had a lot of space to offer. The whole complex was built to provide the community independently with power and water. We took in people and our community became stronger. Until the day, a group of bikers knocked at our gates, demanding half of our supplies or they would kill us. We only found out later that they were called the saviors, when Negan paid us a visit some time later.”

“You just gave them half your stuff?”, asked Sasha incredulously. “Because some bikers said so?”

Deanna looked like she had bitten into a lemon. “They held guns to our heads!”

Sasha was about to add something, when a sharp look from Rosita stopped her dead in the tracks.

“Well, they ain’t a problem anymore”, said Rick, sensing the potential clash as well. 

“Why’s that?” Deanna still gauged Sasha with her disapproving, pursed lips.

Sasha grinned devilishly. “Daryl blew them up.”

At that, Deanna raised her eyebrows and glanced at Rick. “You killed some of the saviors? You didn’t mention that.”

Rick shrugged. “It is not really important anymore.”

“Not important? You killed them and now you wonder, why they showed up here, taking revenge?”

“Ain’t important, because they’re all dead. They didn’t know it was us. Idiots could have blown themselves up.” Daryl didn’t like that Deanna-woman and her questions. Why bother about that shit any longer, when the real problem were the saviors, who were still alive?

Her eyes landed on him and if anything, she looked even more disapproving.

“Daryl’s right. What we need to discuss now, is whether you stand with us in this fight or not. You wouldn’t have come over, if you hadn’t an answer for us.”

Deanna exchanged a quick glance with this Aaron-guy. “If – _if_ – we say yes, how would you do it? We don’t have a lot of weapons left, only enough for us to guard Alexandria and fight off the undead, but not enough to go to war.”

“We haven’t decided yet on a plan. But Daryl and I discovered an old army truck, not far from here. It’s packed with ammunition as well as guns. It won’t be enough, but it is a start. I actually thought about using the winter to keep looking for more and store them in safe places. So, can we count on Alexandria?”

Deanna didn’t react for a long time. Finally, she said: “The saviors took almost all the food we had in stock and left us with some canned vegetables and instant broth and flour made out of acorns. They took our matrasses and furniture, they took our cars and the fuel, they took our solar panels. We want them to leave us alone. We don’t even care anymore if we get our stuff back, but we want them gone. We tried talking with them, negotiating with them. They shot my husband for that. So yes, if you can come up with a plan that would actually work and not lead us all into a death trap, Alexandria stands behind you. If you need anything, Aaron is our emissary and will help you however he can.”

Rick nodded relieved. He hid it well behind his stoic mask of a face, but Daryl saw it in his eyes and the slight sagging of his shoulders. “Good. We’ll come up with a plan during the winter. Maggie, see if we can spare some of our food or some blankets.”

Maggie nodded in understanding, leaning over to whisper something into Paul’s ear. Daryl felt his stomach tighten at the sight.

“Carol, what did the king say?”

“He’s still hesitant”, Carol said in her matter-of-fact voice, exchanging a quick glance with the man in the armor. “But he will listen, when you come back with a plan. As far as it goes, he didn’t say yes but didn’t outright decline our request either.”

That were two maybe’s. Better than three outright no’s, Daryl supposed.

“Peter here is from his king’s guard. He’ll carry word back to King Ezekiel.”

Rick nodded to the man in question. “Alright. Tell him, we will meet again when we have more weapons collected to pull together a plan. For now, I’m afraid we have to deal with Negan as it is. We negotiate amongst ourselves what we can spare, but be careful. The saviors must not know that we work together now. If you have a bad feeling about something, see something, hear something, really _anything_. Don’t try to make contact immediately with any of us. Try to lay low for a while. We can’t let anyone from other communities stay somewhere else, but we will make trips regularly to keep everyone updated. Carol is our emissary for the kingdom. You ok with that?”

Carol gave a short nod, but Daryl huffed. No, it was not ok for Carol to run around between communities when the saviors were out there, ready to blow some heads off at the slightest provocation. “I’ll cover you.”

Rick’s eyes snapped to him as did Carol’s. “I can look after myself. You shouldn’t be out there.”

“So should you”, he shot back.

Rick sighed. He knew he couldn’t stop Daryl, not without cuffing him. “Fine. The two of you.”

Carol stared at Daryl with murderous eyes for a little while longer, but then she nodded again.

Rick turned towards Aaron. “You alright with doing this? Good. Jesus, you’re still up for the job to back him up?”

Daryl ground his teeth. Why was everybody he cared for sent out again? Why not some other from Hilltop? Marco or Ed? Deep down, he knew why. Paul was the most capable. But still … 

“Thank you for coming”, Rick said to Deanna, Aaron and Peter. “We really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome to the House for something to eat and a place to rest. It’s best not to head back at night”, Michonne stepped in. Both Deanna and Aaron looked relieved, although Daryl had the suspicion that this Deanna would have stayed regardless, invitation or not. She didn’t look like someone, who had to deal with walkers alone for a long time. She was still too much of a politician to have seen the real shit.

Daryl pushed away from the wall, when everybody stirred to leave the room, and walked over to Rick. “We might have a problem”, he said in a low voice. He didn’t want to be heard by the others. Not yet.

“What’s wrong?”

“The quarry? I checked it out on my way back today. It’s crawlin’ with walkers.”

Rick furrowed his eyebrows. “How many?”

“Dunno. Hard to count. Thousands.”

“ _Thousands?!_ ”, hissed Rick and quickly looked over to Michonne, who was waiting for him near the door. “Do they have a chance to come out?”

“Entries are blocked, but doesn’t look too reliable anymore. There’re trucks and containers on the ramps, but they’re old ‘n rusty. We should keep an eye on that.”

Rick rubbed his face with a hand. He looked tired as hell. “Alright”, he finally said, clapping Daryl on the shoulder. Unfortunately, it was his bad one and he couldn’t suppress a wince. “I’ll tell the ones that go on runs to check the quarry regularly. To make sure the blockades hold. But we may have to get rid of that problem somehow fast. Dammit!”

Daryl chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to decide if he should say more. Offer himself as a constant guard out there. But what came out was this silly, half-cooked idea that Daryl wasn’t able to get rid of. “Maybe we could use them. Against the Saviors. Lead them over there, ya know?”

Rick opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. 

“Forget it, was stupid idea anyway.”

“No …”, Rick said slowly, eyeing him with that calculated stare that Daryl learned to associate with a reckless and dangerous plan. “It’s not so stupid. Just hella risky. We need to think this through. But not tonight.” He sighed and clasped him on the wrong shoulder again. “C’mon. Let’s head to the kitchens. Heard you brought in some rabbits.”

Daryl huffed, but followed his brother downstairs.

+++

It was late when Daryl finally returned to the trailer. Paul hadn’t been at the kitchens with them, so Daryl guessed he headed straight back to the trailer himself. He probably was tired from the run and already in bed. When he pulled open the door, though, the light was still on and Paul stood at the kitchen table, sorting through the contents of his backpack.

“Hey”, he said without turning around. “Didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

Daryl frowned. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Oh, you know, a nice dinner, candlelight, a beautiful woman …” Paul turned around with a smirk and waggling eyebrows. But underneath the playfulness, he was tense.

Daryl rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t there. Was with Carol at the kitchens.”

“Oh.” Paul shuffled through the items on the table. Daryl stepped over to have a closer look. “Here.” Something was pushed roughly against his chest. “Might come in handy. Since you’re going to run around playing hide and seek with the saviors.”

Daryl looked down at the thing in his hands. It were leather gloves. The black and flexible material felt expensive and Daryl was sure that they would have cost more than the truck he used to have back before the turn.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong? Or are ya generally pissed when givin’ people things?”

“I’m not pissed”, said Paul. His shoulders were a tense set and he let his hair spill around his face to shield him from Daryl.

“Like hell.”

“No, Daryl, I’m not pissed!”, hissed Paul and spun around, finally facing Daryl. “I’m fucking furious! I just got you back and now you’re going out again with Carol, presenting yourself to the saviors on a silver platter!”

“I need to make sure, Carol is ok. And don’t try to put this only on me. Yer out there just as much, yer going on runs _alone_ , Paul! Now, whadda ya think is worse?” Daryl had no idea why he was suddenly fuming as well. Why they were yelling at each other, but fuck it, if he let Paul get away with the foolish recklessness of putting himself in danger over and over again.

“At least the saviors don’t want my head, because I escaped from right under their nose!”

“Ya got me out there, remember, ya prick?! I told ya not to get me, but ya came anyway!”

“Oh, excuse me for worrying about you! For asking myself if I would ever see you alive again or on some pole with milky eyes and uselessly snapping teeth! I just got you back, Daryl, I don’t want to worry again! I don’t want to lose you again!”

“But it’s ok for me to lose _you_?!”

“I …” Paul faltered.

“So it is ok for ya to go out there with no one watching yer back, getting yerself into trouble and probably bitten in the process or slaughtered by the fuckin’ saviors, but I should stay inside waitin’ for ya to return?”, spat Daryl. What the heck was Paul _thinking_?

“I don’t wanna fucking lose you, you idiot!”, shouted Paul with renewed anger. Daryl had no idea why he was so fucking furious.

“Yeah, ya said as much! I just don’t see the point of yer fussing!”

Paul stared at him with bright eyes and red splotches on his cheeks. He seemed genuinely at a loss for words, too angry to spit them into Daryl’s face. Then he suddenly moved and Daryl dropped the gloves that he crushed in his fist, ready to deflect one of Paul’s ninja moves. Paul crashed into him without the usual grace and elegance, hitting him square in the chest – and Daryl froze. Paul had grabbed him by the shoulders, his hands painfully tight, while his lips were on his own, hard and unyielding, but definitely kissing him.

In Daryl’s ears was nothing but static noise.

Then Paul was gone, stumbled back with a heaving chest, the angry red splotches still high on his cheeks. “That’s why I can’t lose you, you asshole”, he said in a quiet voice Daryl almost didn’t hear over the blood pounding in his temples.

“Paul …” Daryl had no idea what he should do or say. He just stood there like a fool, staring at Paul with his hair in disarray and his eyes like sea glass in the sun.

Paul huffed frustrated. “You saying my name like that, it just drives me insane, Daryl. _You_ drive me insane. I have no idea where I stand with you, what you think about me, about us. All I know is that every time I think of you, I want to be with you. I know this has all been fake and I feel like a fucking cliché falling this hard for you, but fuck it. I can’t change the way you make me feel. Believe me, I tried.”

“Paul –“

“I-I know this is senseless, but seeing you walking over to Maria’s, fuck, it-it’s just a nightmare, ok? I know this is selfish and idiotic, but I can’t stop thinking about it!”

“Fuck, Paul!”

Paul snapped his mouth shut with a look on his face as though Daryl had slapped him. Daryl hated himself for putting that expression there, but he needed Paul’s chatterbox to be quiet for just a minute, because how on earth was he supposed to get a word in between the flood that spilled out of Paul’s mouth? His own was so damn slow and awkward. “Why?”, was the only thing that came over his lips in the following silence.

Paul raised an eyebrow at that. “Why what?”

Why me? Why not Alex? Why now? Why did you kiss me? Why have you stopped? Why do you even care? Daryl didn’t say one of these questions that flitted through his mind like lightning bolts. Out came the most stupid question his tongue was capable of forming. “Why’re ya sure it’s fake?”

Paul opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He closed it again. Daryl felt his palms sweat and the blood pounding in his ears.

“You …”, Paul started, then fell silent again. He looked at Daryl with uncertainty in his eyes and Daryl wanted to pull him closer, wipe that doubt from his face, but he was rooted to the spot, unable to move a muscle. “It’s … it’s not?”, Paul whispered.

His eyes were hypnotizing magnets and Daryl couldn’t look away. He swallowed and it was too loud in the quiet trailer. His lips were dry and cracked and he tried to get them working again with a quick flick of his tongue. Paul’s eyes fell onto them and he took a step closer. Daryl wanted to reach out and bury his hands in the soft-looking material of Paul’s sweater, pull him closer, because Paul was still a mile away from him.

Paul stopped suddenly and glanced up again, his eyes still big and round and uncertain in his face and Daryl realized that he hadn’t answered the question. The thing was, he couldn’t even remember the question. If Paul had asked him what his name was, he wouldn’t have known the answer. He bit the inside of his cheek, shifted on his feet, licked his lips again.

“Daryl …”, sighed Paul pleading.

“Yer no fake”, croaked Daryl finally. God, he wanted to touch him. He should. Paul just stood inches from him, right there, he just needed to lift his goddamn hand. They had been here before, this close, with the stifling heat between them. And Daryl suddenly remembered what had happened then. The shattering of that moment without anything happening before. Wanting, but not _being_. 

Daryl’s fingertips brushed over the rough denim of Paul’s trousers, where it sat right over his hipbones. The simple contact shook him to the core, made his knees weak and his head spin like it had when Paul had pulled him to his feet in that cell back at the Sanctuary. 

It was as though that small connection was all the confirmation Paul needed, because his hands were suddenly in Daryl’s shirt and he closed their gap with a step, pressing himself against Daryl’s front, so Daryl’s hands slid all on their own from Paul’s hips to his lower back, but that wasn’t important anymore. 

Paul’s lips were on his again, warm and lingering this time instead of hard and gone too fast. Daryl’s heart was stumbling in his chest like a drunken man, high with giddiness and warmth that curled from his belly down to his toes.

Paul was _kissing_ him. Fuck, he was _kissing him_.

Daryl pressed back, clumsily, because he had no clue when he had last really kissed somebody. But Paul was sighing in his arms, into his mouth, and Daryl thought he must shatter from the beating of his heart. He pulled him closer and Paul just melted. His hands worked their way from Daryl’s chest up to his neck and into his hair and those soft touches alone made Daryl lose every sense of where he was or why or when. The only thing that was important and real and now was Paul. 

Their lips moved slowly against each other as if trying to map the other and Daryl’s hand tangled through Paul’s hair, which was as soft as it looked. Paul opened his mouth then and a soft moan escaped him just as Daryl dove back in and suddenly the kiss wasn’t cautious anymore.

Paul pressed into him and pushed them both back with the movement, until Daryl’s back collided with something solid. Daryl didn’t care. He had his tongue suddenly in Paul’s mouth and _Paul’s in his_ and every nerve in his body just seemed to explode. Paul’s breath was warm on his skin and his full-beard tingled and scratched, but Daryl just tightened his hold around Paul’s waist, pressing them flush together, because everything just felt too small and only Paul could make it better.

Then Paul shifted against him, almost accidentally, and _fuck_. Daryl’s jaw dropped open, while the blood in his body rushed south and stayed there. God, he was so hard it was embarrassing. But Paul did it again and this time he was doing it on purpose, slow and languid. Daryl couldn’t stop the breathy moan that fell out of his mouth.

“Daryl …”

He blinked. Paul looked at him with flushed cheeks, swollen lips and blown eyes and he was so utterly beautiful. Without thinking, he kissed him again. Not slowly or frenzied, just –

_KAWUUM! CRASH!_

Disorientated, they both whipped around at that sound of splintering wood and bursting metal. Paul’s left hand was still buried in the shirt Daryl wore, gripping the material tightly, while Daryl still clutched him around the waist. Then a deafening _BOOM_ shook the walls of their trailer and obnoxious music, so loud it could shred eardrums to bloody pieces, began to blare.

When the screams and shouts bled into that racket, both Daryl and Paul were already moving, bursting from the trailer with knives in their hands.

Daryl’s heart was racing. The shock of being ripped from just standing in the trailer and kissing Paul, really kissing him, not having some dream about it, having him felt under his hands and lips – and a pretty large part of him wanted to have that now to continue – to burst outside and see the gate smashed down by some vehicle turned battering ram felt like being dunked in ice cold water. Daryl tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Hilltop was in utter chaos. An altered Humvee had crashed through their gates. A blasting sound system was strapped to its back and behind it stood three old, battered vans, the doors wide open, spitting out walkers into their yard. The blaring music drove them to a frenzy and made communication between the Hilltoppers nearly impossible. People screamed and lights flashed, as they tried to stop the onslaught. As far as Daryl could see there were no saviors, just the four vehicles and walkers, walkers everywhere, drawn in by the ruckus, spilling through the open gates like a disease.

For a heart-stopping moment Daryl feared that the quarry had been emptied. But then, they wouldn’t be able to stand and stare at the chaos before their eyes. They would have been long overrun.

“Daryl!”

He flinched as Paul pulled him aside while stabbing a walker in the head that had snuck upon them. He gripped Paul’s arm for a moment, grateful. “We need to close the gates. And we need to stop that fuckin’ music!”, he yelled.

Paul nodded, his eyes hard. “I’ll try the gates!”

“I’m tryin’ to turn that shit off!”

“Daryl?!”

“Yeah?”

Paul looked at him, still with that hard gleam in the eyes. “Be careful.” 

“Ya too. See ya in a few.” With that, he dashed off, not daring to look back. If he did, it might be the last time he ever saw Paul and Daryl just wouldn’t want that to happen.


	15. The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul apparently lost his brain-to-mouth-filter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I dropped off the grid for a while! This story has not been abandoned, in fact I'm currently writing the last chapters. :)
> 
> If you liked the last chapter, well, let's just say I hope you'll enjoy THIS as well.

Daryl sat on the steps of Barrington House, staring at the broken cars, the hastily fixed gate, the people going back and forth, piling dead walkers outside and laying dead loved ones side by side next to the three graves already sitting behind the stables. The sinking sun was giving everything a pale and muted air of unreality. He rubbed his eyes and tried to look elsewhere and of course his gaze was drawn back to the Humvee with the sound system at the back. The windshield shouted “Welcome home, Daryl!” in white spray paint.

His fault.

The breached gate, also his fault.

The pain and the terror. The unnecessary loss. _His fucking fault._

If he hadn’t left the Sanctuary with Paul, none of this would have happened. This was the Saviors’ revenge and they knew something would happen, but still, Daryl stayed here with all of them. Brought them into danger and now killed his own people. Just because he was too less of a man to take the hint and leave – vanish somewhere just like he had all those times when he thought he couldn’t take more of Merle’s bullshit. But of course, he had returned every damn time. And this time he hadn’t left at all. He had stayed because he was too greedy getting another one of Paul’s smiles instead of doing the right thing and walk as far away from him as possible.

A wooden board creaked behind him and a moment later Sasha sat herself next to him.

“You know that didn’t happen because of you, right?”, she said quietly and Daryl just wanted to jump to his feet and run then. But he was tired. So damn tired.

“Sure it is”, he mumbled instead. “Just says over there.” He nodded over to the Humvee.

Sasha snorted. “That? That’s a move of a coward. Instead of coming here by himself, he sends us some walkers. Not that I’m complaining about the not-visit from that asshole. But it doesn’t take a lot of balls to come up with such a gutless plan.”

Daryl didn’t say anything to that. People still had died because of him. Good people.

And he hadn’t seen Paul since the whole disaster started last night.

Sasha sighed, before she pulled herself to her feet again. “Just don’t put all the blame on you, Daryl. This would have happened either way. You’ve just been the reason at hand for this bastard.” With that she was off and Daryl didn’t know if he felt better or worse after her words.

The sun slowly sank behind the horizon and the already cold air got even colder the longer the shadows grew. Still he couldn’t get up and do something useful. It was as if every pair of eyes watched him and he was sure when he got up, he would walk right out of the gate to spare them all another ambush just because they still housed him here.

A hand landed with a slap on his shoulder. He hissed as Tara practically fell down next to him. She leaned heavily into his side and he stared at her tactile behavior. “Don’t get all fuzzy, sourpants, I just need a minute.”

“Ya need to get off me, that’s what ya need!”

“Don’t be like that, Daryl.” The untypically quiet tone of her voice kept him from shoving her away and really getting up and off. She sounded defeated and tired just like him. His heart clenched at the thought of who it was now or which catastrophe just happened. But Tara didn’t say anymore, just leaned against him, spending warmth in the cold evening. She had her arms crossed, but a shiver still ran through her after several minutes. Slowly Daryl pulled his arm out from under her and hugged her closer.

“I hope he knows that he truly is a lucky bastard”, she sighed out of the blue.

“Who?”

Tara lifted her head and stared at him. “Jesus of course.”

Daryl felt his face heat up despite the cold. Tara dropped her head back onto his shoulder, unbothered by his dumbstruck expression.

“Whatever little normality you can get, just take it. Don’t ever think twice, Daryl, just take it. One day there might be a bastard with a baseball bat taking it all away because his too tight pants strangle his balls the wrong way. So don’t ever hesitate.” She sighed again. “God, I’m so jealous.”

“What? Why?”, muttered Daryl. He looked around and watched Hilltop trying to pull itself back together. How long until it all crumbled? How long until they were all dead as well?

“At least you can have sex now”, she whined.

Ok, that was it. Daryl got to his feet, letting Tara crumble with a muffled protest into herself.

“Oh come on! Don’t be like that! You two would make the hottest couple around here! Appreciate at least the fact! I know _I_ would!”

Of course she would. Everything was just easy like that for Tara. Enjoying the little things in life to the fullest. Because no one knew if it was their last chance at it.

“Oh, bite me!”

“Sorry, you have to ask Jesus for that!”, she yelled after him and a few people raised their heads.

Daryl ignored them, eyeing instead the goddamn Humvee again. _Welcome home, Daryl!_ He kicked up dirt as he stomped down the ground, over to the trailer. Yeah, what a great fucking thing. He always managed to destroy the place that could have been a home anyway. No need to stick around. No need to – He stopped abruptly and turned around again to the Humvee. A thought had suddenly crossed his mind, but it was probably just bullshit anyway. Daryl huffed, trying to dismiss it, but it clung to him like a leech.

God, he was getting so fucking old already. Because he considered it. Really gave the thought time to expand and he couldn’t believe what happened in his own head. He bit his thumb while sweeping his eyes around again.

Fuck it, this was his _home_. He had no idea when or how it had come to that. But it was. And that fucker wanted to kick him out? Not again. He had lost the prison that had been almost home as well. Not quite, but life there had been good. As it was here. He would not let that bastard win.

His eyes fell on the corpses again. Was it really worth risking even more lives? For what? But then his eyes drifted over to the gate, where people tried their best to repair the damage. Where Paul coordinated the work, looking determined despite his unruly and hastily pulled up hair and the shirt now drenched in gore and sweat with both rolled up sleeves. His hands stuck in his typical gloves, but something red peeked out from under the left one. 

Something heavy settled in his stomach at that sight.

He just couldn’t. He turned around sighing, heading over to where Rick wrestled with some other men heavy wooden beams to fortify their walls again. Time to get working.

+++

When Daryl finally entered the trailer again, it was already around four in the morning and he was frozen to the bone. He would have stayed at the gate post until sunrise, but Rosita had come and nearly shoved him off with a stern look in her eyes, saying something about sleep.

Daryl opened the trailer and stopped dead in his tracks, before finally stepping inside and closing the door. Paul was still awake, curled up on the couch with a book in his hands. He stood awkwardly and didn’t know what to do or say. The last time they had been in here, alone, together, they had been … Fuck.

He had made out with Paul. No fucking idea what was supposed to happen now.

Paul put his book aside – still _The Drawing of the Three_ – and slowly rose from the couch. He looked like he didn’t know for sure either, what he should be doing, which really wasn’t something Daryl was used to see in the other man. “Hey”, Paul finally said softly, licking his lips and pressing a thumb in the pad of his other hand.

“Hey.” Daryl’s voice was a rasping mess. “Can’t sleep?”

“More or less. I was … well, I, we didn’t see each other after and I, I guess, I wanted to make sure you’re ok.” Paul was rubbing his left arm now.

Daryl couldn’t stand it any longer. He moved without knowing it and suddenly Paul was in his arms, warm and real as he buried his nose into his neck. They stayed like that for a long time, Paul with his arms wound around Daryl’s shoulders and Daryl’s hands pressing him as close as possible. He felt so fucking tired and cold, but Paul was warm and solid and Daryl just let himself engulf in the sensation of holding him and breathing him in.

“’m ok”, he mumbled. Daryl straightened a bit to look into Paul’s eyes. “What about ya?”

A tired smile crossed Paul’s lips. “All good, as much as it can be. I’m just glad they didn’t come in after the biters and finished us all for good. Or … you know … took out that bat again.”

“Yeah, me too.” Daryl wrapped his arms around Paul again, who turned his head against Daryl’s neck.

“I couldn’t have watched him take you away again. I – I couldn’t … God, Daryl, I don’t wanna lose you.”

Daryl’s throat closed at these words. It was too much and he had no idea, how to handle the sudden flood of overwhelming feelings that threatened to drown him. So instead, he buried his nose in the wild bun of Paul’s hair, clinging to him like a drowning man, while Paul pulled him even closer with a burning hand on his cheek. Daryl had never hated his inability to fucking say what was whirling through his mind aloud. Instead, he stood there like an idiot, while Paul was waiting to hear the words from Daryl as well. But they just wouldn’t come over his lips.

After a while, Paul shifted, loosening his grip on Daryl with a small laugh. “We should probably try to sleep for a bit, though.”

Daryl nodded. He didn’t want to let go of Paul just yet. But Paul already stepped in the direction of his bedroom and Daryl eyed the couch warily. He didn’t want to lay down there without the heat of Paul’s body surrounding him, but he was probably right. They needed to catch at least some rest.

“You coming?”

Daryl’s head snapped up.

“If you want to … you don’t need to sleep on the couch, Daryl.”

He swallowed. Paul invited him into his bed. So maybe he hadn’t fucked up everything yet.

“Just – just sleeping there, ok? Nothing needs to happen, I behave, I promise.” Paul smiled a little toothily at that. “I just want to have you close, is all.”

Daryl’s heart suddenly thundered in his chest at the implication that Paul actually thought of more than just sleep. Suddenly Tara plopped unbidden into his head: _At least you can have sex now._ He felt his cheeks redden and his groin grew tight. But he never took his eyes off Paul, who looked disheveled and, fuck it, yes, hot. _Gorgeous fucking hot._

_Get yer fucking shit together, Dixon. He said nothing happens tonight, so stop being giddy like a fucking kitten before a bowl of milk._

Daryl quickly switched off Paul’s little lamp beside the couch and followed him into the dark bedroom. It was cold inside, so Daryl just shrugged out of his jacket and boots, planning on leaving everything else on, when something soft hit him in the face. He heard Paul honest to God giggle and ripped the thing from his head. It was a pair of sweatpants.

“Repayment for the pebble, don’t think I forgot that!”, came Paul’s voice out of the dark from the bed.

Daryl huffed, but changed his somewhat dirty pants for the softer and definitely cleaner sweats. Since it was dark, it didn’t bother him that he stood with his bare ass in Paul’s bedroom for a moment. Unless the man was a cat, he wouldn’t have seen a thing. Which was just … definitely the wrong track of thoughts.

Daryl lowered himself carefully onto the bed. He had never felt so awkward laying down somewhere. He didn’t know, what to do, where to lay or if it was appropriate to touch Paul or if they should remain decently apart on both their sides. He made sure not to accidentally brush against him at all as he wiggled under the covers, trying to find a comfortable position. They lay like this for a moment, not saying anything, until Paul muttered: “This is ridiculous.” Then the mattress dipped and Daryl’s heart skyrocketed into his throat. But Paul only had rolled around, now facing Daryl, his eyes darker pools in his slightly lighter face. “You really don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable, Daryl. Being with me together in bed, I mean.”

Daryl furrowed his brows. “Why’d ya think that?”

“I just kind of convinced you and I know I can be a bit, ahm, _over-eager_ sometimes? I’m sorry, I know you need your space. I won’t be mad, you know. If you’d rather sleep on the couch.”

A lead weight plumped into Daryl’s stomach. “Ya want to? Me sleepin’ on the couch?”

Paul huffed out a laugh and Daryl could see him a bit better now, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Paul dragged his hands over his face. Daryl was half out of the bed, because this was just a fucking stupid idea. 

“If I want you to sleep on the ratty old couch? Fuck no, Daryl. But I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want to or are not ready for either. I want you to want to be here, if that makes any sense.” He heaved out a sigh, now facing the ceiling instead of Daryl. “You remember that evening when you told me how your brother took away that book from you, because reading was something only a cocksucker would do?”

Daryl blinked at the sudden change in topic, but answered: “Yeah.” Thankfully Paul couldn’t see his red face in the dark.

“I wondered ever since, if you’re … if – fuck, forget it, alright?”

Daryl sat up abruptly. “What are ya tryin’ to ask, Paul? If I get the hots because of some dicks?”, he hissed and swung a leg out of the bed. He couldn’t do this. It was just one huge mistake to begin with. His brother’s steely gaze and crude sneer flashed before his eyes. Whenever Merle had caught Daryl staring a touch too long at another guy, laughing a bit too late at some gay-jokes, getting all flustered whenever a girl tried to kiss or touch him. _Darylina._ There was a reason Merle had loved that fucking nickname so much.

“Daryl, wait!” Paul shot up as well, grabbing Daryl by the hem of his shirt and pulled him back down, before Daryl could get any further than six inches out of bed. “I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just …” He broke off with his head hung low and it was this gesture of defeat that drew Daryl right back in. He didn’t want Paul to look like that. Not because of Daryl. 

He breathed harshly through his nose in the vain attempt of calming down his fidgeting nerves. Slowly, he lowered himself at the bed again, facing Paul. 

“What, Paul? What is it?”, he asked softly.

Paul breathed deeply for a while, before he whispered: “I just can’t let you go, Daryl. If you decide that this isn’t what you want, that you don’t want _me_ , because I don’t have boobs and a pussy … I want you so fucking much, Daryl, you have no idea, and if that’s just not your cup of tea, then you need to tell me now, because I won’t be able to survive you walking away from me.”

Daryl swallowed. “An’ why would I do that?” Oh God, he had fucked this up already. 

“Fuck if I know, Daryl. But from what you’ve told me, you grew up in a homophobic family. I wouldn’t be surprised if you get freaked out a little by all that. I don’t even know if you have any experience in that department at all. And I’m worried that you’ll come to the conclusion that the kissing is maybe nice, but the rest is gross. I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop and that I will drive you away with my clinginess, when all I need is you close.” 

Daryl’s heart hammered in his chest. He hated talking about that stuff, because it was awkward as fuck, but he also knew that they needed to talk about it. To put all their cards on the table if this should work. “Ya really think I could leave _ya_? The pretty ninja is afraid that the old man is dumb enough to walk away?”

Paul breathed out a laugh. “You’re not old, Daryl, you’re fucking sexy.”

Now it was Daryl’s turn to snort. “Yeah? I’m a fucking trashcan. You could fare much better than this beaten-up redneck, Paul.”

“That’s not you, Daryl.”

“Yeah, it is. My face ain’t pretty, so ain’t the rest of me. My Pa took it out on me, after Merle disappeared to the army and my Ma burned herself in her bed, because my old man didn’t fucking care that she was blind drunk and smoking in her room after they had screamed at each other for hours. I’m a mess. And I’m fucking scared that I will be like him, one day.”

A warm hand cupped his cheek and Daryl looked up into Paul’s eyes that glistened very faintly in the little light there was. “No, you won’t”, said Paul softly. “I’ve seen you with Judith, the way you look at her. You couldn’t ever hurt that girl, Daryl. When Carlos came because of Matteo’s crying, you went and helped them without a second thought. You took a bat to your head, Daryl, for _me_. I don’t give a shit about the scars. Not in that way. I still think you’re sexy, with our without them. But it’s not looks that define us, or our past. Your big, golden heart makes you truly beautiful. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

Paul snapped his mouth shut with a click and pulled his hand away as if he burnt himself. Daryl stared at him, not believing what he just heard. 

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that!”

Daryl wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on the bedsheets. “’s alright –“

“No, it’s not! God, I just can’t say anything right! I didn’t want you to feel pressured and here I’m sitting, just putting another load onto you!”

Swallowing, Daryl tried to breathe. No one had ever told him something like that before. No one had ever _fallen_ for the weird and crude man he was. Falling for Paul was easy. He had the quick, sarcastic humor, the coy smiles and the impressive fighting skills after all. Suddenly, his eyes fell upon the rag around Paul’s wrist, that he tugged at right now, a nervous habit, but one Daryl couldn’t get enough of. That something that had belonged to him was able to soothe Paul so much that he sought comfort in it, was baffling.

“Yer not goin’ to get rid of me, Paul. Hope ya know that.” Daryl’s heart was even more speeding as those words tumbled out of his mouth. It wasn’t what he meant to say, not even close to it. But he had never said those words to anybody and he wasn’t even sure he could form them in the right order. “And I don’t feel pressured by ya. I liked it. All of it.” He lifted his gaze to Paul’s eyes again. “A lot. I like you doin’ it.” Fuck, that just wasn’t the core of what Daryl was trying for Paul to understand. 

Daryl drew in a deep breath and said: “I wanna be here, alright? With ya. Don’t ever doubt that, Paul. I don’t feel pressured or obligated or some shit. I’m not good at this. Never really had something like it before. Or someone for that matter. But I wanna try, okay? With ya. Cause you matter a whole lot to me, too.” His stomach twisted with knots and he was pretty sure that Paul could hear his stupidly thumping heart from where he sat. “I wouldn’t have survived in that cell without ya.”

Daryl could hear Paul swallow and suddenly his palms were sweaty again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah …”

They were silent for a moment, where everything seemed to be in abeyance. 

“So … if I did that … that would be okay then?”, Paul whispered, leaning forward right into Daryl’s space. “Cause I really like to kiss you right now.” 

Daryl knew that Paul gave him an out here, because he had stopped inches from Daryl’s lips, but Daryl couldn’t really focus on his own thoughts. He wanted to taste Paul again, feel him against his lips and hear those little sighs and moans again. Things Paul did because of _Daryl_.

“Yes.”

Paul instantly kissed him, warm, open-mouthed and _hungry_. Like he was a starving man and Daryl was all he needed to stay alive. A hand was on his cheek, tilting his head slightly and their dancing lips fitted even better onto each other. Daryl’s hands were in Paul’s hair and around his neck, cradling him even closer. Their position was awkward, because they had to lean into each other from their sitting positions on the bed, but Daryl couldn’t care less. Paul was all he could think about.

“That … that okay, too?”, breathed Paul into his mouth and Daryl had no idea, what he was talking about, until Paul pressed himself even closer and a weight settled into his lap. His blood raced through his veins, rushed by his own hammering heart. Paul felt so good above him, solid and warm and wonderful as he slowly sat down in Daryl’s lap. His hand in Paul’s hair tightened for a second and a moan dripped from Paul’s lips into Daryl’s mouth, where it vibrated right into his very soul. Daryl had never felt so alive before. Never so whole. Or never so brave. He pushed his tongue between Paul’s open lips, while his hand, which wasn’t tangled in Paul’s long hair, slipped under the hem of his shirt, pushing it a bit up while he stroked over warm, flawless skin greedily. Paul kissed him back feverishly, licking into his mouth and biting at his lip. 

Then his hip snapped forward while pressing his tongue against Daryl’s and _fuck_. Paul was hard. His cock pressed against Daryl’s stomach and he pulled back a bit, trying to catch his breath. Paul was hard because of him. Paul rutted against him again, his breath fanning hot over Daryl’s face and Daryl couldn’t help the groan that came out of his mouth.

“Oh fuck, God, Daryl”, Paul moaned. He dropped his head onto Daryl’s shoulder and Daryl used that moment shamelessly to push both hands under Paul’s shirt and wrap them around his shoulders. Paul breathed heavily against his neck and grinded down again, making Daryl growl again, because his own dick was achingly hard against Paul’s ass, trapped inside his pants.

Paul suddenly sat up straight and Daryl wanted to protest instantly, but then he saw pale skin being revealed in the dark as Paul jerked his shirt above his head and flung it somewhere to the side. Daryl couldn’t see shit because of the darkness in the room, but he also couldn’t stop a hand from roaming over a flat, toned chest down over a well-muscled stomach.

“You like that?” Paul’s voice was a throaty whisper that sent goosebumps down Daryl’s spine.

“Yeah…” His own voice had never sounded so low to his own ears before.

“Good.” 

Daryl could hear Paul’s smile and feel the relieved sigh across his cheeks. It wasn’t right that Paul had these doubts about himself. About Daryl and his feelings for the man. Before he knew what he did, Daryl had pulled him closer, kissing the soft shell of his ear and whispered: “I like the color of yer eyes. An’ I like that hair of yers. I like yer smiles, Paul. I like the way ya move an’ I even like yer cocky ninja shit ya call fightin’.” 

Paul shivered in his arms and his breath hitched. 

“I – I like the things ya say to me.” Daryl buried his nose in Paul’s neck, inhaling deeply the intoxication mixture of sweat, arousal and _Paul_. Paul’s fingers were under his shirt, tracing the slightly softer sides of his stomach. 

“I like that yer wearin’ ma rag,” Daryl rumbled and just as the words left his mouth, he could feel himself blush at the implications that lay underneath that simple sentence. Maybe it was too much. Maybe Paul found it ridiculously cheesy and exaggerated. Maybe he was too possessive, maybe it was too soon – 

Paul crushed their lips together with a heated desperation. His hands were tugging at Daryl’s shirt and he finally got the hint and lifted his arms, so Paul could get rid of it. He instantly felt exposed, the cold air kissing his heated skin and baring his torn back to the world, but then Paul was back, pressing his warm body against Daryl’s and his mouth on his and his back wasn’t so important anymore. They were skin on skin and Daryl could touch every inch of it.

A constant string of little sighs and moans now fell from Paul’s lips between their kisses, as his hands wandered blindly over Daryl’s neck and shoulders, down over his chest. One of his hands brushed lightly over his left nipple, maybe an accident, maybe fully intentional, but Daryl’s hips jerked up violently, so he lost the balance of their sitting position and landed on his back like a fool. But Paul didn’t seem to care, far from it. He instantly stretched out over Daryl, pressing him into the mattress and Daryl’s arms looped around him again and pulled him even closer on top of him.

“Daryl … please, please, don’t tell me to stop. Please, I need …” Paul was rutting shamelessly against him and Daryl let his legs fall apart to make more room for him. The air was hot and heady and the smell of their arousals dazed Daryl’s grip on reality. 

“Whatever ya need, Paul.” He had no idea what Paul was asking for, but he would do everything for that man. Lips landed at the corner of his mouth before quickly correcting themselves and catching Daryl in a breathless kiss again. Paul wiggled and squirmed above him and Daryl grabbed a handful of Paul’s hair in his hand to keep him right there and lick hungrily into his mouth again. Paul just breathed against him with soft whimpers. 

And then Daryl’s mouth fell open with guttural moan as Paul’s fingers closed around his dick. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck, Paul…”

Paul pressed his mouth over Daryl’s to swallow the rest of the curses that suddenly spilled over Daryl’s lips. Then the fingers left and Daryl tried to regain enough brain function to remember how to breathe again. He felt his pants being tugged down enough to free his dick and then there was Paul’s dick right next to his, hot and heavy, and Paul’s hand back around them both and Daryl’s brain just short-circuited. He dug his heels into the mattress and pressed himself up into Paul while holding him down with an arm across his back. Paul kissed a messy path from Daryl’s still open mouth down to his jaw and to his ear until he reached Daryl’s neck, where he licked a long wet stripe across his skin. 

Paul’s hand worked between them, fast and without any finesse, but Daryl was too far gone to care. He felt Paul pant against his neck, his hand still buried in Paul’s hair, the other aimlessly roving over Paul’s bare back until it finally landed bit too low on his ass. Daryl felt Paul’s groan at the touch down to his toes, and the hand around their dicks moved frantically now. Everything in Daryl was strung too tight and he thought he was going to explode any moment, but not before Paul sounded like that again. Utterly drunken on lust.

“Daryl … Daryl, please … oh God, fuck … can you … can you again –“

This time Daryl grabbed Paul’s ass and pressed their groins together at the motion. Paul whimpered, his lips on Daryl’s neck and his hand twisting tightly around their dicks, so Daryl nearly blacked out from the sensation. His fingers lost their grip for a moment, before he could press them against the firm flesh again, trailing lower and then sliding between those two perfect cheeks and suddenly Paul stiffened with a muffled cry into Daryl’s neck and Daryl felt something hot and wet pulse between them.

_Fucking shit._ It hit him like a sledgehammer. 

_Paul just came on top of him._ Paul fucking came with his hand around both their dicks and his face buried in Daryl’s neck.

He panted. They both did. Paul didn’t move, slumped to the side, and Daryl held onto him, although his cock was still achingly hard and trapped between their bodies.

“So-sorry”, slurred Paul, trying to stir. “Didn’t mean to – to come all over you –“

Daryl turned his head and captured Paul’s babbling mouth in a languid kiss. God, he felt so fucking _alive_. Paul let himself be kissed, until he gathered enough breath to pull his hand out and move back over Daryl again. He hummed into the kiss when the wetness between them made squelching sounds as they moved lazily. Daryl’s blood cooled down a notch and he could have lain there kissing Paul for the rest of the night. But eventually Paul came up for some air, hovering over Daryl. “Keep your hand right there.” He sound of his wrecked voice went straight to Daryl’s cock. He didn’t understand what Paul was actually asking of him. Then Paul began to slide down his body and Daryl let go of his hair that he still held loosely with his left, not wanting to hurt him.

Paul stilled. “Keep your hand in my hair, Daryl”, Paul said with his rough voice again and Daryl’s cock twitched at the command. Slowly he gathered Paul’s spilling hair in his hand again and watched Paul moving further down his body. He still had no idea what Paul had in mind, but then Paul started kissing along his collarbone, over his chest and stomach until he reached the slowly drying come there. Daryl still couldn’t see more than Paul’s eyes as dark pools, but they were fixed on him as Paul licked the sticky wetness away. Daryl was panting again, his heart thumping in his chest, because the way Paul moved just looked like he wanted to get down _there_. Daryl only knew blowjobs from dark alleys to get off quickly and effectively without being discovered. 

This. This was so different.

With a hot rush of shame he suddenly realized that he hadn’t showered or washed after today, and Paul was licking at his skin and – 

“Oh shit”, Daryl breathed as Paul kissed the tip of his dick. He stilled, locking eyes with Daryl. “Pa-Paul … oh, fuck … wish I could see ya.” Daryl drew out the last word as a choked moan, as Paul hummed. And then his eyes rolled into the back of his head when Paul sucked his fucking dick into his mouth. He wasn’t sure he really uttered the noises that he heard through the static in his ears, but if so, he couldn’t care less. Paul’s mouth was wet and hot as he sucked him quickly, bobbing his head. Daryl forced his eyes open again, just as Paul gently squeezed his balls while sucking him deep into his mouth and Daryl could only pull at Paul’s hair as a warning before his back arched off the bed and his orgasm hit him like a fright rain. He saw literally stars.

He didn’t know where he was or if he had forgotten to breathe. He just lay there, trying to get down from the height of the best orgasm he had ever had.

“You are so beautiful, Daryl”, came Paul’s hushed voice into his ear. Daryl had no idea if he was dreaming or not.

“Can’t be”, he panted. “Yer more gorgeous than anything’.” Daryl blinked, his vision finally clearing again. Paul’s face hovered over him, smiling in the dark. “Thought nothin’s gonna happen tonight?”, he asked, a smirk pulling drowsily at his lips. Paul opened his mouth and Daryl didn’t want to hear if he got a smartass reply or an apology on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t ya dare say sorry, Paul.”

At that, a grin broke over Paul’s face. “Alright, I won’t.”


	16. The Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, it's been so long! I'm sorry! But the summer was so nice ... and stuff happened ... Hope you still want to hear from these two idiots! :)
> 
> Before you get confused with the ending, just remember that this is an AU, where things might not be happening or have happened like in the series;-)
> 
> Also, this is the end of Part Two and therefore Daryl's POV, just saying.

Daryl stood in the tiny kitchen, watching Paul fiddle with a pot on the little stove. The trailer was ice-cold. Frost already marred the windows and their breath hung as fog over their heads. The winter was going to be tough.

They both already wore their thickest clothes, ready to start cleaning up the Hilltop and meeting with Rick and the others for plans any minute now. But they both prolonged the short morning routine of a quick shower each and assembling some breakfast as much as possible. They hadn’t really talked, both a bit groggy from the night, but Paul’s smiles were small and private every time he shot them at Daryl and Daryl couldn’t help but nudging him affectionately when he slipped into the bathroom after Paul. He felt ridiculously carefree and light.

Right now, Daryl leaned against the kitchen table, staring out of the window and catching sight of the damn Humvee again, and dread crept back up his spine. His half-formulated plan nagged at his brain again and he bit his thumb, lost in thoughts.

“It’s not coffee, but it’s hot”, said Paul, startling Daryl. He turned around to look over to where Paul had hopped onto the counter, his legs dangling as though he was a child. Paul smiled at Daryl again as he blew into a steaming mug. Another sat right beside him.

Daryl stood and came over. “I need to tell ya somethin’.”

Paul raised his brows. “Oh? Something nice, I hope?” His eyes twinkled mischievously as he slurped his tea and Daryl instantly felt his cheeks redden. Just thinking about what they did last night managed to fluster him. Looking Paul in the eyes and seeing that smug and content grin just made his skin tingle with anticipation to do it all over again.

Daryl snatched his mug from the counter to occupy his hands with. “No, not really.”

Paul instantly sobered up. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember Rick talkin’ about checkin’ out that quarry? North from here?”

“Yeah … what’s with that? Do you wanna go have a look?”, asked Paul.

“Already did. When ya was on that run. The thing is, the quarry is full of walkers.”

Paul paused his mug midway to his lips and stared at Daryl. “What? What do you mean – full of walkers?”

“Dunno”, said Daryl shrugging. “Thousands. The whole thing is crawlin’ with them.”

Paul let out a long breath and stared at Daryl. “Fuck. And now? Who knows about this? Rick? Maggie?”

“I only told Rick, dunno if he told the others.” Daryl took a sip of his tea, his gaze drifting outside the window to the Humvee again as if drawn to it like a magnet. “I was thinkin’ –“ He broke off, biting his lip and turning back to Paul, who watched him with big eyes, the mug still halfway to his mouth. “What if we could use ‘em?”

“Use them? The biters? How so?” Paul didn’t sound like Daryl was out of his mind with that idea alone.

Encouraged, Daryl took a step closer to him, standing in front of the little V of Paul’s dangling legs. “We could just do what they did to us. We have that fucking Humvee with the music.”

“You want to use the Humvee to lead thousands of biters to the Sanctuary?”, Paul gaped.

“Forget it, was a stupid idea”, mumbled Daryl and took a step backward to leave the trailer with red ears. But Paul was quicker. He lifted his leg and hooked it around Daryl’s waist, pulling him back effectively. Paul crossed his boots behind Daryl to keep him from escaping, pulling him close and right into Paul’s breathing space.

“Just wait a second. What exactly do you have got in mind?”, Paul said, taking a sip of his tea.

Daryl sighed, putting his mug down. Which was a bad idea, he realized seconds later, because he had no idea where to put his hands now. He fiddled with his thumb as he gazed at Paul’s open face. “We need to get rid of them walkers in the quarry. Better sooner than later, the barricades someone put up there won’t hold forever. Maybe they keep them walkers inside for the winter, but what happens in spring when the water starts washin’ out the ramps there? We’ve been lookin’ for weapons to beat the saviors with, but what if we don’t just use guns, but them walkers, too? Use the Humvee to lead them straight to them and have the walkers doin’ the work? Let the saviors deal with them. Maybe that buys us time to come up with a better plan to get our supplies back.”

Paul hummed. “You want to use all these walkers? Thousands of them, they’ll overrun the place, Daryl. The saviors have families there, too. Women and kids.”

“They didn’t give a fuck that we had kids and women in here, too, did they?”, Daryl said heatedly. 

“But we need to be better than them, Daryl. If we won’t we could just roll over and say that stupid fucking name”, whispered Paul and his big blue eyes bore into Daryl’s own.

Negan came unbidden to his mind, leading him into that room, offering it like unimaginable wealth to Daryl in exchange for one word. Negan. Daryl hadn’t said it then. He wouldn’t say it in any possible future. He wasn’t sunken so low that he considered murdering children or innocent people. But the rest of them could rot in their graves. “Yeah, I know.” Daryl squirmed a bit in the bracket of Paul’s legs, but when he felt him uncrossing his boots, his hands landed on Paul’s thighs without his consent and stopped the movement. “Maybe not all of them, but enough to occupy them. I dunno.”

“Have you told Rick about your idea?”, asked Paul. 

“Nah, not really, it was just hoppin’ around my mind for a while.” Paul’s legs tightened around his waist for a moment and Daryl raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing, just … we need to tell Rick about it, give the plan a proper form, but the idea isn’t too bad, I guess. It could backfire spectacularly, of course, but we should discuss the details in a larger round. Think of something for the women and kids.”

“Ya think so?”, asked Daryl doubtfully.

“Yeah, although I don’t like the idea that you’ll probably put yourself into the first row during that attack, driving the Humvee or some other shit I’d rather not see you doing.”

Daryl snorted. “As if yer so different, Paul.”

Paul licked his lips and set down his own long cooled-off mug. There was a strange gleam in his eyes that twisted like a knife in Daryl’s heart. “I meant what I said last night, Daryl. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t.”

Daryl’s hands tightened around Paul’s thighs for moment, before he rubbed them soothingly. “Ya won’t. I promise”, whispered Daryl. He leaned further into Paul’s space, trying to convince him. To convince himself.

“You can’t promise shit like that”, whispered Paul back, locking eyes with Daryl.

“Yeah, ya neither, little prick.”

Paul smiled at that, his eyes dropping down to Daryl’s mouth. “But it’s good to know.” Sitting on the counter eliminated their usual height difference. Paul just needed to lean closer to kiss Daryl on the mouth, almost like an accident.

Daryl drew in a breath through his nose, sliding his hands up on Paul’s legs until they rested on his hip, just shy of touching his ass. Paul was warm and he smelled of soap, his beard scratching slightly over Daryl’s stubbles. This kiss wasn’t heat or frenzy, it was slow and careful, and Daryl couldn’t decide which one he preferred. Didn’t really matter in the end. Kissing Paul was all that counted. Paul’s hands were fisted in his jacket, where he pulled Daryl close. The crossed legs behind his back pushed him into Paul’s warmth and he let out a sigh. Paul’s lips stretched into a smile, but he didn’t stop kissing Daryl. 

Suddenly, their door flew open and a gust of ice-cold air hit them. Maggie stood in the frame with her mouth halfway open, a wild look in her eyes. Daryl felt heat breaking out all over his body and he instantly dropped his hands from Paul, whose hands were still frozen in Daryl’s jacket and his legs still around Daryl’s waist, effectively stopping Daryl from bolting and jumping out of the bathroom window right now. 

“Maggie”, Paul said, clearing his throat.

They stared at each other like complete idiots for another second, then Maggie stomped into the trailer with a tense look on her face. Daryl totally expected her to hiss into his face, what the heck he thought he did there with Paul, but she said with urgency under her breath: “You need to leave, now! They’re coming, Sasha just saw them on her round through the woods”. Paul’s legs fell open and he hopped off the counter, but Daryl barely noticed. Dread had dug its ugly claws deep into his stomach at Maggie’s words.

“What happened?” Daryl already went for his knives that lay next to the sink, while out of the corner of his eyes he saw Paul doing the same.

“Saviors, at least five cars, headed our way. Deanna, Aaron and that Kingdom-guy are still here! Negan must not find them here, nor you! You need to take them back, unseen. Take them anywhere safe, that is.”

“Where’s Rick?”

“Getting them to the back gate.”

Daryl frowned. Hilltop didn’t have a back gate. But Maggie didn’t elaborate. She had a determined scowl on her face Daryl had last seen on her when they had entered Hilltop and begged for help. No matter the cost, she would have done anything for her family then. Now, she would do anything for them again. For Daryl. He felt smacked in the head for a moment at this realization. But there was no time, maybe there was never, for him to fully grasp the enormity of the things life had granted a Dixon after everything went to shit and then some miles further. 

They ran back to Barrington House and Daryl already felt the time slipping through their fingers. If the saviors found that politician-woman and that Aaron-guy back here and not at Alexandria, where they seemed to belong in the first place … And then just _another_ guy from _another_ community they should absolutely not know about … He didn’t want to start to imagine the bloodbath Negan and his men would create.

Rick rushed forward as soon as he saw them sprinting over. “Run! They’re not close enough yet, but they move fast!”

Daryl caught up with Rick, running to the walls at the back of the house. He looked highly alarmed, but the old determined glint burnt in his eyes. He wouldn’t give Negan an easy show. “What about the others?”, Daryl asked quietly under his breath. He saw Michonne now, standing watch between dung heaps overgrowing with pumpkins. 

“We’re getting our weapons from the truck right now. Sasha radioed in with the alarm. She and Glenn are getting back that truck.”

“Fuck, why didn’t ya say anythin’? I would’ve gone with ‘em!”

“I need you to get these people out of here, Daryl! You’re their only hope of escaping unnoticed. And I won’t watch Negan taking that bat to your head again!”

“But ya need me in that fight!”

They had reached the wall, where Carol and Kal together with Rosita helped that frowny politician-woman climbing barely visible notches on one of the stronger supporting beams. Aaron was already on top, offering his hand to pull her up the rest of the way. Daryl stared at the makeshift ladder, feeling oddly betrayed that he would steal off like a thief in the night.

“We need you to keep them safe. We need _you_ safe”, said Rick low in his ear. “Whatever happens here, now, doesn’t change the plan at all. Bring them back and bring them to fight for us. Against Negan. Can you do that, brother?”

Daryl looked at Rick. He wasn’t so stupid that he couldn’t read the command and the plea in that statement. _Get out of here alive. Let them pay for it, if they kill us._ He growled.

“Daryl! Can you?” Rick grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Fuck, yeah, but ya better make it out alive, ya hear me!”

Rick grinned, but the blood froze in Daryl’s veins at that sight. That grin meant nothing good. It meant throats ripped out with Rick Grimes’ bare teeth.

“Rick!”, Michonne shouted, while a radio cackled in her hand. “They need to go, now!”

Rick nodded, pulling Daryl into a fast and hard hug. “See you later, brother.”

Daryl’s throat closed and he couldn’t utter a word, so he just nodded back. The guy from the Kingdom had reached the top of the wall, swinging his leg over. But Daryl couldn’t move. He couldn’t leave them here, running. He couldn’t … Something was pressed into his hand and he looked down, startled. The pair of gloves Paul had gifted him were in his fist. He couldn’t breathe. 

“Daryl …”

He couldn’t meet those eyes. What if this was the last time? What if he never saw Paul Rovia again, grinning and laughing? What if he never would see those eyes flutter close again, because Paul would lean in to kiss him? What if he could never touch him again? Breathe him in?

He felt the warmth of his body close to himself. Daryl shivered. He could not do this. Leave him here. Abandon him.

“Daryl.”

His eyes lifted on their own and met Paul’s head on. Green and blue. His heart stuttered helplessly. Paul stood close, his hand still wrapped around Daryl’s fist with the gloves.

“Just remember that promise, Daryl. Just remember what you promised me, alright?”, he whispered.

“I will. Just do the same, yeah?”

Paul nodded and Daryl’s chest tightened. He needed to move now or he never would. He took a step back without looking anywhere else but Paul. Then he turned around, not sparing anyone else a second glance. Carol and Maggie tried to hug him as well, but he shrugged them off, feeling tense like a bowstring and ready to snap and break down when he so much as paused for one second longer. He pulled on the gloves that fit him like a second skin and climbed the wall. He was over it in no time, landing with a slight _ouph_ on the other side. 

Three pairs of eyes stared at him as though they waited for him to come up with some ass-shit witty idea like grow a pair of wings and take off. 

“What’cha all waitin’ for? Move!”, he growled.

+++

They hasted through the frostbitten forest as fast as they dared. Daryl cringed at the sheer noise they made. He tried to cover up their tracks as much as possible, but he still saw their taken path glowing through the dead leaves, beckoning everyone not too stupid to open their eyes and see to follow them.

But no one came.

He didn’t dare to look back or try to make out Hilltop behind them. They were heading towards Alexandria now and that should be all he was thinking about. Cover up the tracks. Try to find the least likely route. Hunt. Stay calm and not snap at that stupid bitch, who didn’t want to travel at night, because it felt unsafe.

Of course it was fucking unsafe. The damn saviors were tearing up his family while he was out here, leading their stupid asses away from the danger. Away from bats covered in blood and brain matter. Away from nagging questions about names. Away from dog food and that stupid song.

Away from blue-green eyes and warmth.

“He’s going to make it.”

Daryl turned his head to the guy from Alexandria. Aaron. He could barely see the man in the darkness. There was no moon tonight and Daryl didn’t dare to light a fire. Just another thing that this woman complained about.

“Well, at least, that’s what I’m telling myself every time I leave.” Aaron laughed without any humor, leaving clouds of pale fog in the air. He sat huddled in on himself, pulling a thick parka tighter around his body, but it wasn’t of much use. The days were already too short for the sun to heat up the air and the ground was slowly freezing. So far, the sky had been clear, but Daryl dreaded the day heavy clouds would pass over them, bringing either bitingly cold rain or worse – snow. The three snowflakes he had seen occasionally every winter in Georgia were his only encounter with such weather and he did not look forward to expand his treasure trove of experience.

Daryl grunted. He had no idea what Aaron was talking about and although the man was the least annoying of this little group, Daryl didn’t feel like uttering more than three words at the man. Aaron didn’t seem to take it personally. Not like his boss, this Deanna. She always eyed Daryl’s action with suspicion like she doubted that he could piss properly without wetting his own shoes or something. As though he was dumb and she had to think for him. She reminded Daryl so much of his old math teacher from so long ago. They both got the same surprised look when Daryl actually would open his mouth and talked in English. As though he was some Neanderthal or some bullshit.

The other guy, Peter, wasn’t much better. He might see the sense in the covering up of tracks and giving up on campfires during the night, but he threw him sideway glances that wouldn’t sit right with Daryl. He scoffed every time Daryl said something at all and Daryl’s fist would have found its way into that dick’s face if it weren’t for Aaron, who had the ability to get them all back on the task at hand without being patronizing. 

The wind raked its fingers through dead leaves. It sounded a lot like walkers shuffling by. Daryl’s eyes snapped back to the darkness between the trees.

“You been together long?”, asked Aaron, who apparently was in a talkative mood tonight, much to Daryl’s annoyance. 

“What?”, he hissed.

“You and your guy, Jesus.”

Daryl’s ears rang and his breath came in shallow little gasps. 

“I mean”, Aaron laughed quietly again, “it just looked like it. You two worked pretty damn well together back then. At the gas station.”

Daryl stared at him. He didn’t want to talk about Paul. Not with Aaron, not with anyone. He just tried to remember, how his skin had felt under his fingertips, without breaking apart. Just trying to remember how Paul had kissed him that night, feverish and desperate; how every kiss had burnt on Daryl’s skin as though it would leave a mark wherever Paul had touched him. He didn’t want to think about a bat and smashed in skull. A lifeless, unmoving figure to Negan’s feet. 

Daryl had left him there. Had left him there for Negan to play with. He could have just slit Paul’s throat himself.

Then Aaron’s words clicked in place inside Daryl’s head. “’t was ya!”, he hissed. He had never heard his own voice so full of venom either.

Aaron flinched back as though Daryl had hit him in the jaw. “What?”

“When them saviors came to Hilltop, that fucker said someone described us, stealin’ a truck from ya. Ya set them on us!”

“Well, I didn’t know! I’m sorry, but you just stole a truck full of supplies that at least would have gotten us a whole month of peace from the saviors! It was our lives or you! I didn’t know you then, in case you forgot!”

“Ya just could’ve gotten them any random description then!”

“And caught lying? To Negan? No, Daryl, I don’t think so.”

Daryl could see the sense in that. Hell, he would have done the same fucking thing, if it was his own people or some thieves, who had just stolen hours upon hours of scavenging for a monster in the vain hope it wouldn’t kill anybody he cared about. But he was still seething. At the saviors casting him out of his own home and saving his own skin above fighting and dying for his family. At sitting idle in the dark while they should be moving. At Aaron for being reasonable and bringing up Paul at all. At himself for abandoning Paul and his family. At Dwight, who still had his crossbow. At Deanna and her scowls. At Peter and his lingering, disdainful looks at the goddamn hickey Paul had bitten into his neck. At the fucking hickey for fading already. At the fucking winter coming. At the naked trees that gave them no cover. At – 

Daryl froze. So did Aaron.

“You hear that?”, he whispered.

Daryl didn’t answer, just motioned for Aaron to follow him quietly. They stepped carefully around the two sleeping figures on the floor. They didn’t need to go far. The first walker practically fell on Aaron, who only wasn’t bit due to the thick parka he was wearing. Daryl instantly jumped around and drove his knife into the dead skull, as another already grabbed his arm.

“Fuck!”, cursed Daryl. The cold made his movements stiff and slow. The dead on the other side didn’t seem to be affected at all. The walker suddenly went limp and Aaron ripped the thick stick out of its skull he head used as a makeshift spear.

They stilled for a moment, trying to catch their breaths. There was more moaning and rustling in the distance, but it was headed their way.

“We need to get out of here, now”, said Aaron, already half-way back to their little camp.

“Wait”, said Daryl, squinting in the darkness.

“Daryl, it sounds like a herd! We need to move!”

“Sh!” Daryl knelt down, plunging the knife into the hard earth and then leaned down to press his temple on the handle. He closed his eyes, unmoving. The slight vibrations weren’t a very good measurement, especially since the walkers only scuffled along instead of stomping around, but it was enough for Daryl to feel sick to the bone. He ripped his knife from the ground. “We can’t run from that herd.”

“What? What do you mean, we can’t run? We’re quicker than them!”

“This is fuckin’ Woodstock comin’! We can’t run from that!”, hissed Daryl back. 

Aaron stood rooted to the spot, staring at him. “And now? There must be something we can do!”

Daryl had already grabbed one of the walkers, pulling it over to their camp. “Get the other one. C’mon, man!”

Thankfully, Aaron didn’t ask any more questions, just did as he was told. They needed to do this quick, so he didn’t bother for any sensibilities and just nudged Peter with his foot in the man’s ribcage. If he was a bit more forceful than he would have with anyone of his family, that really wasn’t his problem. Peter jolted upright. Deanna was a bit slower to wake.

“What – what on earth are you doing?”, she asked. Her voice was shrill in Daryl’s ears, as he cut his walker open with quick motions. The thing was half-rotten already, but it had recently eaten, so its belly was full of dark, stinking gore.

“Aaron?”

“There’s a big herd moving towards us.”

“Why don’t we run, then? What the heck are you doing there?”, Peter asked, sounding grossed out.

“Too many. We need to blend in.” Daryl grunted as he slit the other walker open. This one was fresher and the knife caught on the breastbone. 

“How big?”

“What do you mean, we need to blend in?”

“Maybe they don’t even notice us, when we keep it quiet.”

Daryl pulled the only blanket they had off Deanna, dunking it into the fresher walker. “Get that on ya”, he said, kicking the first walker towards Aaron and Peter.

“You can’t be serious”, said Peter instantly. “I won’t put that on me! I won’t have some dead’s gunk on me! Best way to become one myself!”

“Listen, ya idjit”, hissed Daryl. He could hear the moaning like a swarm of angry wasps now. Fuck, they were closing in fast. “There’re masses movin’ our way we can’t run or hide from. Ya understand? There a thousands of walkers comin’ for us an’ the only way to survive this is to put that shit onto ya, so they’ll take ya for one of them, ya got that?”

“Thousands?”, asked Deanna and for once, she didn’t sound mildly surprised. She sounded horrified. Good. Hopefully that would keep her from asking more dumb questions. 

Daryl threw the soaked blanket at her. “Put that on. Put some on yer face as well.”

Meanwhile, at least Aaron had grasped their problem. He knelt next to the walker, dumping old blood and rotting flesh on his parka and onto his face. “You’ve done this before?”

Daryl remembered Michonne and her little trick of keeping incapacitated walkers as her guard dogs. Rick and his trick back in Atlanta Glenn had told them maybe one time too many. His own little adventure when he fell down that creek, landed on one of his own bolts and stumbled back to Hershel’s farm, just to be almost shot in the head by Andrea. It seemed to have happened in another life.

“Yeah.”

Peter still eyed him skeptically, but Daryl didn’t give a fuck. He smeared the walker all over his jacket, onto his face and in his hair, pulling out some bowels and strung them around his neck. Aaron held his breath and did the same. Peter groaned.

The moaning was louder now, the shuffling through dead leaves more prominent for even Deanna to catch it. She pulled the stinking blanket tighter around herself.

God, Daryl hoped that would work. Playing walker was easier in the summer, when the stink of rotten flesh was unbearable from the heat alone. In this cold everything smelt halfway decent with enough distance. In the heat, their fingers wouldn’t become stiff and unable to grip a knife properly, while walker gunk froze their fingers numb. And the breath wouldn’t hung white and foggy like an exclamation mark of life between them. Daryl had no idea to what extent the dead actually understood what they saw. If they saw at all or if they purely relied on smell and noise.

The rustling grew louder. Daryl wrapped his fingers around his knife with a death grip. 

Then the first walker stumbled between the trees towards them. It was soon followed by a second, a third, a fourth. Deanna whimpered and four walkers shuffled over to them.

“Don’t. Make any. Sudden. Moves”, said Daryl under his breath. He rose slowly and staggered a bit like a drunk. The walker came closer, snarling. Then, an arm length from Daryl’s face, it groaned disappointed and shuffled by. So did the others.

Daryl let out a breath and relaxed his aching fingers a bit. He still eyed the walkers crossing their little camp warily, but it was as though they shared one big brain. The first didn’t deem them eatable, so the others didn’t even stop to look for themselves. For now, at least.

Slowly, they all stumbled forward with the dead. They took Deanna into their middle, who glowed a pale white in the dark underneath dark streaks of rotten blood on her face.

It was just like Daryl had predicted it. The herd was massive. He only knew about one place that had held so many walkers at once and it made his stomach turn just to think about that. Did the walkers escape the quarry because the blockades didn’t hold anymore or were they set free? If so, by whom? Rick or the saviors?

Daryl wanted to turn around and go back. See for himself. Help. Fight. Kill.

He looked over at Aaron and knew he couldn’t. If it had been Rick, then the war had just begun and they needed Alexandria and the Kingdom at their side. It just had to be Rick. Daryl didn’t want any other possibility inside his head. Rick was fighting Negan. That was all.

+++

It took them two days and another half of stumbling and subtly meandering through the dead to know that another community couldn’t be far away. The dead weren’t suddenly so apathetic anymore, but moving faster and with purpose. A loud commotion drew them in that sounded like waves crashing on moles.

Aaron had grabbed Deanna and supported her. She looked exhausted, much like Daryl felt for himself. But they moved on amongst the groaning masses of the dead. Daryl thought it would split his head right open. Within the groaning came pieces and bits of that song back to him. Sometimes he saw Negan grinning down on him in one of the rotten faces. Sometimes he saw Carol with empty eyes and blood on her uselessly snapping teeth. One or two times he had almost followed a walker in a long coat, convinced that it must be Paul. One time he glimpsed an old sheriff’s star pinned to the rotting breast of a corpse and thought Rick just came back from Atlanta.

But they were just walkers. Long dead and falling apart.

Slowly, the walls of Alexandria came into view. The dead branded against high metal walls that looked almost flimsy in comparison to Hilltops thick, wooden beams. People on top of the wall tried to mow down the hordes and Daryl saw with envy that the saviors apparently hadn’t stripped this community off all the firearms they could find. There were still rifles that plopped their bullets into dead skulls with rapid succession. Already the unmoving corpses piled high against the walls, pressing in on them with the still walking dead pushing from behind mindlessly. Sooner or later, the wall would crumble and the dead would filter through and overrun the people behind it.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Daryl saw suddenly Deanna raising her hand and waving. “What the fuck yer doin’, woman?”, he hissed.

Already, a walker turned its head to them. It once had worn an impressive amount of dreadlocks, but their weight had pulled half of the skin off its face.

“They’ll see us. They’ll let us in!”

“And how are they supposed to do that?”, growled Peter, who eyed the walker beside him warily. “Once the doors are open, the dead come inside with us. This is useless. We’re just as dead as them!”

“Keep yer fuckin’ shit together!”, snapped Daryl back. If that idiot just made one wrong move now … 

Aaron suddenly gasped. “There’s Eric.”

Daryl didn’t care, who was waving back at them. The walkers had taken a growing interest in them and that was going to bite them in the ass, if they didn’t – 

BOOM!

The explosion and the following shockwave knocked him off his feet and he was smashed to the ground face first. Two walkers went with him, one half under him and the other on top. Daryl felt surprisingly strong jaws around his left forearm, gnawing and tearing at his sleeve. Daryl tried to clear his head from the nasty ringing in his ears. Another walker lying on top of him and trying to get a chunk out of his shoulder was ripped off and Daryl drove his knife into the eye socket of the one lying under him.

Someone grabbed him and pulled him up. Daryl whirled around. The world was still muted and strangely blurred and too bright at the same time. Aaron stood before him, moving his mouth and for a second Daryl thought he was going to attack him and rip his throat out. But Aaron kept shaking his arm and moving his mouth and Daryl finally registered that Aaron _spoke_ to him.

He shook his head.

Around him, the walkers were in a frenzy. They waltzed forward, but not towards the walls. Instead the burning ruins of a house drew them in. Daryl stared, then ripped his eyes from the sight. Where were the others?

Something moved fast in the corner of his eye and he spun around. Deanna ran through the masses towards the gate. Instantly, walkers flocked towards her like she was some tantalizing piece of juicy meat. Daryl didn’t think. He sprinted towards her, jumping the first walker in the back and landing with his boot just right underneath its skull. The momentum and Daryl’s weight snapped off the skull, but Daryl was already going at the next. Aaron was right beside him, slashing with his thick stick through the masses. Daryl grabbed Peter, who had a nasty cut through his eyebrow, by the sleeve and pushed him towards Deanna and the gate. “Run! We’ll have yer back!”

Peter nodded, grabbed Deanna and ran with her. Gun fire slowly filtered through Daryl’s ears again, but the bullets wouldn’t hit them. The walkers around them fell one by one. He was just about to push Aaron behind him and towards the gate, scanning the crowd that just wouldn’t lessen, distracted by the fire or not. The smoke hang heavy in the air, but the cold wind that had blown all day already and brought with it thick dark clouds, cleared the view for a moment.

That was when he saw it. A thin, black snake of smoke at the horizon. Maybe a day’s and half trip away if someone took the direct route and not ditching saviors or meandering through walkers. Hilltop was burning.

Daryl stood frozen to the spot, not able to take his eyes away. No. No, that couldn’t be. That couldn’t be Negan. It just couldn’t!

“Daryl!”

It had to be Rick, just like quarry. Just like the masses of walkers suddenly stumbling around. Although he had no idea why Rick would light up Hilltop. Their _home_. 

“Daryl! We need to get inside! Now!”

An arm was flung around his waist and Daryl stumbled a few steps before he started to thrash. “No! Lemme go! _Lemme go!”_

“Daryl, for fuck’s sake! Move!”

Another arm grabbed him and Daryl howled. Then someone clutched the collar of his jacket. He tried to free himself, tried to get away, get to Hilltop. His family was there. Paul was there. They needed him!

With a heavy thud a big metal gate closed before his eyes and the hands finally let go. Instantly he was back at the gate, trying to open it. “Let me the fuck outta here! I need to go back!”

No one answered and no one opened the gate. Daryl spun around with his knife in his hand. If they wouldn’t obey, he would make them do it. He didn’t care if he hurt someone in the process.

“Daryl?” The voice came from a very big distant, but it cut through him like a hot blade. “I don’t believe it! Back from the dead!”

Slowly, his eyes wandered over the faces staring at him. Aaron stood next to a man Daryl vaguely recognized from somewhere. Two younger man flanked a pale and shocked looking Deanna. Others mingled in the background, ran hastily back and forth, carrying guns and shouting orders. All this could have happened on another planet as Daryl’s eyes found a face that simply couldn’t be here. 

“Merle?”


	17. The Hut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is bitter-sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt awful after the last cliffhanger, so here's the next chapter for you! Unfortunately, it doesn't pick up where we left Daryl *evil grin*

_And if you were to ask me_  
_After all that we've been through_  
_"Still believe in magic?"_  
_Well yes I do_  
_Of course I do_

Coldplay, Magic

 

Paul didn’t know if he could hold himself any longer on the tree branch. His fingers were numb from the cold and despite his thick shirt underneath his coat he was shivering.

After he had watched Daryl climb the secret escape ladder Enid had graved into the beams of the wall so long ago to leave Hilltop unseen whenever she had wished to do so, he felt fear grabbing his heart in an iron-tight fist. They sent them into certain death. The saviors were just outside, getting closer, circling them in and they pushed Daryl, Aaron, Deanna and Peter out of the guarding walls without any weapons, right into their arms. But he hadn’t known what else to do. Keeping them here was their certain death. Or worse.

The saviors had burst through the already battered gate like the damn riders of the apocalypse, guns raised and shouting. People had run from the house and the trailers, panicking and in utter disarray, screaming and grabbing for their loved ones.

Then a man with a moustache out of an old mafia movie or perhaps a porno had climbed off a truck. “Get everyone outside, now! Right here, in front of me, kneeling!”

Saviors had raided every corner of Hilltop, pushing, pulling and shoving every man, woman and child in front of Moustache. A gun had pressed right into Paul’s temple as he was shoved onto the frozen ground beside Maggie.

“He has to be somewhere”, Moustache had yelled over whimpers and cries. Little Matteo had screamed on the top of his lungs. “Shut that fucking baby up!”

Paul hadn’t known what happened, but a sickening slap and Matteo had been silent.

The saviors had taken almost until midday, turning Hilltop upside down. With no avail. They had pulled Gregory by his jacket in front of the kneeling people, shaking him.

“I – I don’t know, where he is! He was just there last night! I told you everything as soon as I knew! I swear! They must have helped him!”

A burly savior had shot Gregory in his leg, leaving the man crumble to the ground screaming in agony. Moustache had stepped up behind him then and put a bullet in Gregory’s brain. “Who’s next?”, he had grinned.

“This one! That’s his boyfriend!”, someone had shouted and Paul had been yanked up by his hair. A fist had landed in his stomach and he had gasped for air. “Where is he? Come on, pretty, you can tell me. We’ll find him anyway, but maybe your suffering will be shorter.” A snicker.

“Don’t – don’t know, who you mean”, Paul had pressed out between his teeth.

They had beaten him up right then and there. Paul hadn’t known up or down anymore, hadn’t heard more than the ringing in his ears and shouting from a distance. When the punches and kicks had stopped, he first had thought they took a break. But the shouts had transformed into terrified shrieks, screams of horror and agony.

Someone had pulled him up. He had looked around, disorientated, his head pounding and his rips aching, and hadn’t understood, what was happening. Biters. Spilling in through the open gate like cancer. Hundreds. Saviors had lain on the ground, being ripped apart. There was Martha, screaming as a biter tore out the flesh of her left thigh. Someone had grabbed his hand, pulling and Paul had spun around. Tara. 

Paul didn’t remember much after that. The biters just kept spilling in in endless waves. Somehow, they made it outside, slashing through the masses. Tara had been able to pick up a discarded gun. He hadn’t seen anybody else. Maggie. Where was Maggie? Rick, Michonne, Sasha? Alex? Dr. Carson? All the others?

He didn’t know.

Paul had lost Tara outside in the woods. Biters had been swarming in from all sides, grabbing at him and with the last of his strength Paul had jumped for a low hanging branch and had climbed up the tree until he dared no further. He was up in there ever since, with biters scratching at the bark below him, pushing and moaning.

Sooner or later he would fall down. If not in his sleep, then from exhaustion and starvation. His legs trembled as he hold onto the branch he was sitting on for dear life. A cut in his eyebrow burned like hell and his split lip throbbed. It was night now and the cold fingers of the wind crawled under his clothes and settled deep into his bones. His breath hung white above his head and he didn’t know if it was actually only the other day he had seen Daryl the last time. It felt like ages ago.

“Psst.”

His head jerked up. He squinted into the darkness through his slightly swollen eye. There were only moaning masses below him, not even an owl hooted. God, Daryl was out there somewhere. Or maybe he was already one of them. Paul didn’t dare to follow that thought further and quickly shut it down.

“Up here.”

Paul blinked again and turned his head. He had to scan his surroundings for a while, until he could make out a dark shape in a pine tree a couple of yards away.

“Who’s this?”, he whispered back. Fuck it, if that was a savior, Paul would do everything to bring him down that tree first.

“Glenn.”

_“Glenn?!”_

“Yeah. Uhm, Jesus?” Glenn sounded uncertain, although the tree Paul sat in was stripped bare from any leaves that could hide him.

“Yeah, it’s me. Who’s with you?”

“No one. Wasn’t sure it was really you. Sorry for the long wait.”

“It’s okay.”

“You’ve seen Maggie?” Paul could hear the desperation underneath the faked calmness of Glenn’s voice. It tore him to pieces.

“No, I’ve only seen Tara and I lost her. I don’t – I didn’t even know if anybody had made it out alive.” His voice was trembling now, just like his hands. His legs quivered with the uncomfortable log between them. He slowly but surely was losing his strength.

Glenn was silent for a while, then he asked: “I’ve lost Sasha. We’ve been to that truck Rick told us about, the one full of weapons. But then we heard the cars. We split up; Sasha went for the truck while I was supposed to watch them, followed them back to Hilltop. I barely made it to the gate and then suddenly there were geeks everywhere. I don’t know – there were so many … The screams … I thought I was used to them by now, but it was just horrible.” He was silent for a moment and Paul didn’t prod. He didn’t want to know, who Glenn saw being torn apart and eaten alive; who crossed his path with milky eyes and blood on their lips. “We need to get down here. Start looking for the others.”

“And how’re we gonna do that?”, Paul laughed bitterly. They couldn’t defeat these masses. Not with ten guns. As it was, Paul only had his knives with him by sheer coincidence. 

Glenn shifted on his branch and some needles rained down. Instantly, the biters grabbled up the tree, but didn’t get far. “We could cut one open, cover ourselves in their blood. Worked before, old Atlanta trick.”

Paul snorted. “Good luck with that. I ain’t climbing down that tree anytime soon.”

They sat in silence once more. Glenn still shifted occasionally on his branch as if trying to persuade a biter high enough the tree so he could grab him and slit him open. Paul didn’t want to know, how exactly he had discovered that being covered in the blood of dead people was a perfect disguise when being faced with such hordes. He tried to remember if Daryl had ever told him anything about that. But he only knew Michonne’s trick and that wasn’t going to work for them right now.

“We need to get down,” murmured Glenn, almost feverishly. “We need to get down. Maggie. I need to find her.”

Paul swallowed the lump in his throat. The hopelessness of their situation threatened to suffocate him. Hilltop was overrun. Sure, the saviors got just as bad as they did, but right now that thought wasn’t very comforting. Maybe everyone was dead. Maybe him and Glenn were the only ones left, damned to sit on trees until they literally fell off them, directly into the gnawing teeth down below.

A sudden bright light followed by a dull boom flashed through the darkness. Paul jerked around as far as possible, clawing at the bark beneath his fingers. Another blast soon followed. That was the direction of Hilltop. What was going on there? Were the saviors back? Did they blow it up?

The masses below suddenly shifted, agitated, drawn to the ruckus. 

“That was at Hilltop”, whispered Glenn.

“Yeah, I know.” Suddenly Paul watched with intent the walking masses to his dangling feet. The horde moaned as one and shuffled in the direction of the explosion. They instantly had forgotten about him and Glenn. Paul could see the ground again and a strange looking rock caught his eye. Suddenly, he knew exactly, where they were.

Daryl and him had discovered the old hunting hut on one of their runs. Paul had made a comment about a secret hide-away for romantic weekends, because no one would ever hear the screams of pleasure. Daryl had been beet-red and muttered: _“Sounds more like ya plannin’ on murderin’ someone.”_

_“You know orgasms are called the sweet little death, Dixon?”_ , Paul had grinned. 

That was when he still tried to ruffle Daryl feather’s for the fun of it, not to get into his pants. Well, mostly.

“Glenn, there’s a hunting hut just half a mile from here.”

“You think we can make it?” Glenn sounded doubtful. The biters were still countless.

“We need to wait until they thin. I’ve got some knives. You?”

“Just a crowbar. Okay, so we’ll wait. I’ll follow, when you jump down. Alright?”

“Yeah, alright.”

They had to wait until the sun climbed finally over the horizon again for the masses to lessen significantly. When Paul finally dropped off the tree, he didn’t land with his usual grace. He rolled over his shoulder to lessen the impact of hitting the forest floor, but his head spun and he needed longer than usual to get up again. A biter already turned into his direction. It took all strength that he had left to plunge his knife into the rotten skull of something that once probably had been an elderly woman. A few hair rollers still dangled in the last strands of hair.

Paul huffed and wheezed. His limbs were stiff and uncoordinated and he felt clumsy as though he was drunk or on drugs. Glenn landed with a thud and a hiss, then came over running. Paul smiled despite the situation, because suddenly he understood perfectly well Daryl’s complain about him rustling up the forest floor and scaring away any game.

“Jesus?” A wet, caving sound followed Glenn’s shout. “You alright?”

Paul turned, dodged another biter. Glenn pulled out his crowbar of a smashed in skull. “Yeah, you?” Glenn nodded and Paul set off. “Alright, let’s go!”

They ran through the trees, shaking off some stray biters that followed them. Paul’s ribs hurt like a bitch and he prayed that nothing had been broken. His vision was blurry due to his swollen eye and he felt a bit wobbly on his legs. But finally the little, moss covered hut came into view. Neither Glenn nor him bothered with checking it before entering. They just burst through the door, slamming it closed as soon as they were inside, chests heaving. Some biters crashed against it, snarling.

The hut was thankfully empty. Paul sank down to the floor, back against the door. Glenn darted around the little room, shuffling through cupboards and peeking into corners just to be sure. Then he came back, kneeling in front of Paul. His eyebrows crunched together and he looked just as tired as Paul felt.

“You okay, Jesus?”

“Yeah, it’s alright. Chest hurts.”

Glenn gently pushed his coat open and prodded at his rips. Paul hissed, when he hit a particular one, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Doesn’t feel broken.” 

Paul nodded, but didn’t make another move. Glenn examined his other wounds, but Paul was too damn tired to pay much attention. 

“We need to bandage that.”

Paul pried his eyes open. Glenn had pushed his left sleeve up, revealing a long cut on his forearm that wasn’t very deep, but still bled like a bitch. Paul couldn’t even remember getting that. He still stared at it, as Glenn searched the cabin for something remotely clean he could use as a bandage. Then he blinked and shot upright. An ice-cold panic punched him in the gut as he stared at his arm.

“No, no, no, no”, he murmured, turning and glancing around frantically. 

“Jesus?” Glenn darted back, panic bubbling up in his voice. He held a roll of duct tape in his hand. “What? What’s wrong?”

Paul tried to calm his staggering heart. _No need to panic,_ he told himself. _No need to frighten Glenn, get your shit together Rovia!_ He swallowed, huffing out a breath and forced a grimace on his face that he hoped reassembled some sort of smile. “Nothing. Just, just thought I’d lost something. My … my knife”, he finished lamely.

He could tell that Glenn didn’t buy his bullshit for one second, but after a moment, he nodded, tearing a long stripe of tape from the roll and started bandaging his cut. “Sorry, it’s all there is. We need to stop that from bleeding further.”

Paul nodded, although he didn’t really hear anything. His eyes were glued to his wrist. The wrist that looked oddly naked without Daryl’s red rag tied around it. He had lost it. Just like he had lost Daryl himself. Paul tried to fight off the feeling of utter despair, but it just felt like the end, sitting in the dim cabin with biters bustling on the door. And he had just lost the only thing that could have given him comfort and reassurance in this moment. Like it had all those weeks when he had went out to look for Daryl.

+++

Paul had actually dozed off for a while, when something shook him. He jolted awake. It was dark outside again and Paul felt frozen to the bone. A pale face hovered over his own.

“There’s someone coming!”, hissed Glenn, already pulling him to his feet. Paul shot up and listened. There was faint moaning, but it was so weak that there were probably only a few biters left outside. The others had wandered off as neither Paul nor Glenn had moved too much inside. But he heard dead leaves being kicked up as well as the murmur of voices. “Shit! What if these are saviors?”

Paul didn’t hesitate any longer and pushed Glenn over to the corner behind the door and kicked a faded rug aside. He knelt down, fingers fumbling for the little notch he knew was there. Finally, he found it, and pulled the trap door open. “Come on!”

Glenn stumbled down the short ladder into complete darkness. Paul grabbed the rug and threw it over the door again, before climbing down himself and pulling it shut. His heart was racing. Sure, this could be saviors and if so, they were fucked. Glenn’s crowbar was tugged into his pants and Paul had three knives, but that was nothing against the guns they would be facing. But on the other side, this could also be someone from Hilltop. Other survivors. Friends. Family.

Paul didn’t need to look into Glenn’s face to know that he had the same hope.

Boots pounded above their heads and then the door was pushed open.

“Clear.”

“Clear!”

“Close the fucking door, man!”

There was shuffling and huffing, boots scraping and cupboards slamming open. Something hissed softly and then a light flickered above their heads through the floorboards. Paul peeked above into the room. Five men with heavy boots and rifles stood in a loose circle. Saviors.

“Are you fucking insane? No fire!”, hissed one and then the light was snuffed out again.

“Sorry. Just wanted to take a look around”, answered an annoyed voice.

“Yeah, because it’s not already crawling with those dead things outside!”

Paul stiffed. This voice … He would never forget this voice.

“Why were there so many of them?”, another voice asked. This one sounded younger, and scared.

“The hell do I know, boy! Don’t shit yourself, we can handle this. They already moved on.”

There was a lot of bustling around after that, furniture scraping over the floor and people flopping down on chairs. Clicking and a whizzing noise, crumbling foil being unwrapped. There was silence for a while, where Paul couldn’t hear much save for swallowing sounds. Glenn was a rigid mass against his back.

“Hey, what’s that?”, one of the rougher voices said with a mouth full of food.

“What do you mean?”

“There. That ugly rug.”

“What about it, man?”

“It looks … off.”

Snorting and a chair being pushed back. Footsteps coming closer. Glenn pulled Paul away from the steps and deeper into the darkness, but Paul impatiently shook him off. That was their chance at weapons. It were only five and if they would come down here one by one like lemmings jumping over a cliff, then Paul was the last to argue.

The door was pulled open and a light shone down. After a second, boots followed the light, and a rifle came into view, before the man holding it stepped further down the stairs. The light flickered. “Fucking piece of shit”, the man mumbled, shaking the flashlight as though he could shake some remaining energy from the battery.

“An’, Georgie, already found the ghoul?”, snickered one of the other man above.

“Fuck off!”, Georgie yelled back. That was the exact moment the flashlight went completely dark and Paul moved. He felt Glenn grasp for his arm, but he didn’t hesitate. He just felt a blind, surging rage at the sight of the man coming down here. He was one of them. One of the men that held Daryl captive for weeks, feeding him dog food, beating the shit out of him. Tortured him. Paul would never forget the way Daryl would wake gasping from nightmares, whimpering, until Paul would plop down on the couch and read to him, because he didn’t know what else to do. How he could help without spooking Daryl away.

He was on the man in the blink of an eye, jabbing him with a precise movement right in his throat. The man made a gurgling sound and Paul quickly tried to catch him before he made too much noise crumbling to the ground. Glenn was at his side in a flash, grabbing the gun, while Paul drove his knife slowly through the ear into the man’s skull.

“Georgie?” Boots neared the door. Paul and Glenn pushed the corpse into the shadows, readying themselves for the next to come down. Unfortunately, that was the moment the flickering flashlight decided to shine happily into the darkness, exposing Paul, but not Glenn, who still held the rifle where the little device was clipped onto. The man shouted before Paul jumped forward, his hand gripping the stairs for balance as the kicked his feet out. The knees of the savior gave in and the man fell with a loud thud down on the stairs. Paul was above him like lightning, plunging the knife in his hand directly into the eye socket. There was yelling from above and Paul was fucking exposed on the stairs, his back vulnerable for any bullets that would fly down the trap door any minute now.

But Glenn already burst through the opening and pulled the trigger. Shouts and screams of agony filled the air as Glenn shot at knee-level into the main room. Paul ripped the gun from the dead savior’s grip and headed after him, pulling the trigger without seeing much. Everything was confusion and chaos, before the hut was eerily silent save for Glenn’s rattling breath and his own thundering heartbeat in his ears.

“You okay?”, Glenn whispered.

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Same.”

Paul didn’t really listen. “Can you give me the light?”

Glenn unclipped the flashlight and Paul could see his frown, but didn’t care to elaborate. He flashed the flickering light into the faces on the ground. One man close to the door wore a mean looking scar on his face, but more from something sharp than something hot. The other really was just a boy, maybe fourteen years old. He hadn’t even tried to get up from his chair. The last one lay face down on the floor, but Paul didn’t need to turn him around to know, who it was.

The man lying there had dirty blonde hair that was smudged with blood from the bullet that went straight through his brain. “You goddamn little fucker!” Venom seethed through Paul’s veins like he had never felt before. He really had the nerve, _the fucking nerve_ to wear that leather vest with angel wings as though it belonged to him.

Paul bent down and ripped the vest off the dead man, shrugging his own coat off and slipping his arms through the holes. He stood there a moment, chest heaving with blood pounding in his ears. Then he nudged the man on the floor with his foot, turning him over. The face was twisted in surprise and a bit of fear. But the most prominent feature was the ugly scar that covered half his face.

A gunshot echoed through his memories, followed by Daryl’s pained cry.

He gripped the vest tightly, feeling the worn leather under his fingers, realizing just then that he didn’t even wear his usual gloves. Paul wanted to pull the vest tighter around him and bury his nose in its inside, desperately searching for a faint hint of Daryl’s scent. He wanted to close his eyes and imagine that Daryl would hold him in his arms, safe and warm and alive. He wanted to touch him, to lean into his broad shoulder, feel him and kiss him. He wanted to have his husband back.

“Hey, that’s Daryl’s, too!”

Glenn’s voice snapped Paul out of his misery. Quickly, he shrugged his coat back on, protecting the precious vest he wore now underneath. He knew that it was just wishful thinking, but he felt as though Daryl was right here, with him, protecting and watching out for him. He had lost Daryl’s red rag, but he got his vest back. Paul swallowed the lump in his throat and turned over to Glenn, who wrestled with something.

“God, that thing is heavier than it looks. Daryl always carried it as if it was light as a feather.” Glenn breathed out a laugh that was a tick too close to desperation. He heaved and threw a crossbow on the table. _Daryl’s crossbow_. Paul had to swallow again to keep in tears that wanted to spring to his eyes.

“Did he ever show you how to use that thing?”, Glenn asked as Paul strode forward to lay a hand on the weapon.

“Yeah, he had”, answered Paul with a thick voice. Glenn shot him a quick glance, but Paul didn’t actually see him. All he saw was the tree he was supposed to shoot a bolt into. He remembered how maddeningly fast his heart had hammered in his chest as Daryl stood close behind him, adjusting his grip and correcting his stance. 

“Come on, dig in!” Glenn pushed the leftovers of the meal still lying on the table towards him, already munching on some bread. Paul swung the crossbow over his shoulder and its weight settled firmly against his back. It just was as if Daryl was having his back again.

They ate quickly in silence. It wasn’t much, but better than nothing. Then they checked the remaining weapons. The rifle Glenn still held in his hands was the best; it still had ammunition and was in good shape. The other rifle was useless as all the bullets had been spent already. The gun Paul had tugged inside his waistband had only two shots left, but it was better than nothing. They searched the pockets of the saviors, but found no more ammunition, but three other guns. One didn’t even had a magazine anymore and obviously was only for show. The other two were in bad shape and Paul didn’t want to accidently shoot his hand off, because a bullet got stuck while he fired and exploded inside the gun.

“Alright, we gotta get out of here”, he said after a quick, final sweep around the hut. As if on cue, something heavy slammed against the walls of the little hut. Glenn’s head flew up, dread edged into his features. In the pale morning light that filtered already in through the boards across the windows, he looked sickly pale under the mop of his black hair. 

“I don’t think there was a back door”, Paul said in a low voice as another biter smacked against the door. “I’ll create a distraction here and you pull off those boards, so we can climb out of the window?”

Glenn shot on of the bodies a quick look, then nodded and moved to the biggest window, shouldering his rifle. While he worked on the boards with his crowbar, Paul pulled the nearest dead savior closer to the door, readying himself to move fast and efficiently.

“Okay, no geeks on this side”, stage-whispered Glenn. “I’m pulling off the last one, you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, now!”

Paul pushed the door open and squeezed the corpse outside, while he tried to avoid the grabbing hands that instantly wanted to pry the door even wider open. One scraped across his skull and pulled his hat off. Then they noticed the fresh flesh before them, sinking down and yanking at the Savior, pulling him apart with their teeth. Paul didn’t linger. He darted off, not bothering to close the door since the legs of the Savior still stuck in the doorway. He practically jumped out of the window after Glenn and together they ran in the opposite direction of the hut.

They met a few biters along the way as they dashed through dead leaves and broken twigs. Paul tried to be nimble and light-footed just as Daryl had shown him, but the weight of the crossbow sat heavy on his shoulders and he was tired to the bone. An icy wind had picked up that bit into his ears and made his eyes water, but they moved on without a pause.

It might was well have been midday when Glenn said something for the first time since they had escaped the hut. “There’s a barn.”

Paul paused. His sides burned and his nose was wet with snot. His cuts and bruises throbbed in time with his swollen eye. 

“We need a break, Jesus. We can’t run forever.”

Paul knew that, dammit, but he didn’t trust that barn. What if this was just like the hut and full of Saviors? Or worse – biters? But Glenn was already trudging forward, rifle raised. Paul cursed under his breath and pulled the gun out. He didn’t trust his arms to hold the crossbow and shoot precisely with it. Seriously, how did Daryl do that all the time? Well, Paul knew, didn’t he? Hadn’t he ogled at Daryl’s arms like they were directly out of some wet dream?

_Head back on your shoulders, Rovia, now is certainly not the time!_ He grit his teeth and followed Glenn. 

The barn doors were locked as Glenn tried to open them. There was no deadbolt on the outside, so that must mean someone was in there that still had enough brain function left to know how to use one. Glenn threw a glance over his shoulder at Paul, who gripped the gun tighter, but nodded curtly. Whatever, it just could get worse. Glenn pushed the crowbar in the crack between the crooked boards and pushed. The doors didn’t budge at first, before a loud screech ripped their eardrums to pieces and Glenn stumbled head first into the dark barn. Paul froze in shock as an old pitchfork jabbed forward and hit Glenn square in the chest.

Someone cried. “Oh, Jesus!”

It took Paul the second Glenn stood there frozen, before the pitchfork dropped and a chorus of relieved sobs met his ears to understand that that exclamation wasn’t just some random prayer. The people behind the pitchfork _knew_ him. As Jesus.

Before he could fully comprehend the situation, he was suddenly surrounded by people. People, who hugged him. People, who cired and asked questions. Paul was too stunned to do much, but let it all happen. He blinked as someone clutched him tightly, long hair tickling his cut face. He stared down. Enid. _Enid._

Overwhelming relief flooded through him with such force that he staggered a step back. She was alive! She made it out! He glanced around, finally seeing the faces that swam before his eyes. There was Carl, who held Judith. Eugene. Earl and Bertie. Anton. Maria with little Matteo and Carlos at her side. Other people from Hilltop he knew, but couldn’t place the names right now.

Finally, he clutched Enid back just as tightly as she held onto him. If they were here, maybe more had made it, too. More survivors. More people from Hilltop. 

Daryl. 

Daryl just had to be alive as well. Paul didn’t know what he would do otherwise.


	18. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for homophobic language, I guess. I mean, Merle's speaking ... what do you expect?

The wind had picked up even more, howling in their ears and biting at their skin, making their eyes water. It was almost dark now, although sunset was at least three hours away, but the dark clouds that piled above their heads swallowed every bit of daylight there might have been. A flash ripped over their heads and illuminated everything in sharp contrasts, but still Daryl couldn’t believe his eyes. He didn’t even know what to feel.

“Aw, no hugs an’ kisses for old Merle? No tears of joy streamin’ down yer face, baby brother?”, asked Merle, grinning his lopsided sneer as if not a single day had passed since he went with Morales, Andrea, T-Dog and all the others into Atlanta and never came back.

“You’re brothers?”, asked Deanna, but Daryl didn’t hear her over the blood rushing in his ears.

“Yeah, man, that’s ma little brother over there. Lookin’ good, still in one piece! Not like me, huh, Darylina? Lookin’ good an’ healthy under all that filth, I s’pose. Them bitchy people treated ya real good after ya forgot old Merle on that fuckin’ roof!”

Daryl flinched as if Merle had hit him with that cruel looking knife that had replaced his right hand. The hand Merle had cut off, because Rick cuffed him to a pipe after Merle had thrown one of his signature tantrums.

“I didn’t forget ya! We came back, but ya were gone! Left us with no car, by the way!”, Daryl yelled back, suddenly furious. 

“Oh, ya came back? Ya and who else? That nigga? Officer Friendly?” Merle laughed ugly, before suddenly leaping forward and swinging his knife at Daryl’s head. “What kind of brother are ya, Daryl? Abandonin’ yer own kin for those fuckers? Bet they’re all dead now! Should’a sticked with me!”

Daryl ducked and raised his hand in defense. Suddenly he was back at the old shack with his old man swinging his belt at him.

“Hey! Hey, Merle!” Aaron sprung forward and grabbed Merle, holding him back. 

Merle spun around viciously, getting right into Aaron’s face, and yelled: “Keep yer fuckin’ hands off me, faggot!”

Something snapped inside Daryl then. He moved without a second thought and everything happened like a thoroughly studied choreography. Merle turned back around to Daryl at the same time Daryl’s fist made contact with his chin at the perfect speed and angle. Merle blinked, then staggered back. With a surprised grunt, he finally fell down on his ass, dead to the world.

Daryl’s chest heaved as he stared down at his brother. Why the fuck did Merle had to be like this? Why couldn’t he let people be? Why couldn’t he just trust Daryl enough to wait on that goddamn rooftop? 

“Well, thanks, Daryl”, said Aaron. Daryl glanced up at his face, where a weak grin spread across Aarons lips. “Nice right hook.”

Daryl felt the tips of his ears grow hot. He didn’t punch Merle, because he was threatening other people – again. He had punched him because of that word. _Faggot._

“Deanna! Deanna! They’re coming through! _They’re coming through!_ ” The shout rang high through the air and suddenly everyone was moving. Lightning cracked again, this time so close that Daryl smelled ozone. The dried walker gore itched on his skin.

“You okay?”, Aaron asked, leaning in close.

Daryl nodded, his eyes back on Merle, who groaned and slowly came back to himself. He would be alright. “Yeah. C’mon, we need to make sure them walkers stay outside.” They spun around and ran back over to the walls, where several people desperately pushed back against solid metal that bent under thousands of hands and undead bodies pressing against it from the other side. 

Another bolt, followed by deafening thunder, flashed over their heads. “What the fuck is that?”, yelled Aaron over the noise, hoisting up a wooden beam to support the bending wall. Daryl grabbed the other end. “Never seen a thunderstorm in winter!”

“’s probably a fuckin’ blizzard!”, Daryl yelled back.

People around them screamed in panic, as another wall dented. They would never be able to secure all the walls. There were just too many walkers trying to get inside.

KLONK.

Daryl tried to ram the beam into the ground as Aaron secured it on the wall. There were already fingers pushing under the wall, followed by arms. Someone chopped them off with a machete, but soon enough others replaced them. 

KLONK. KLONK.

“Behind the church! The wall behind the church!”

KLONK. KLONK.

Gunfire roared, but the wind howled so loud it was barely audible. 

KLONK. KLONK. KLONK.

“What is that?”

“Where – ouch!”

_“They’re through!”_

KLONK-KLONK-KLONK-KLONK-

Daryl raised his head to the black clouds over his head, squinting. Then something smashed on his fingers and with a cry of pain he let go of the beam. An innocent looking white clump the size of a small apple lay to his feet. Then another. The next hit him on his ear. Square in his chest. It hurt like hell and Daryl was sure there would be a bruise later.

“Aaron! Get them out of the storm!”

Aaron threw him a quick glance, then started pulling people back while covering his head against the hail that smashed down on them like angry fists from some cruel God. As soon as people pulled away from the denting walls, the dead overpowered them, tearing down the solid metal sheets like wet paper. Daryl lifted his knife as Aaron sent the people of his community back to some fancy looking houses, then he sided with him, a rifle in his hands.

Before he could protest, Aaron lifted the rifle and fired, knocking the first walker off its feet. Against his will, Daryl was impressed, because he couldn’t see shit. The ice-cold wind bit at his eyes and the hail was falling so fast now that it felt as though his skull was being smashed in with cannon balls.

“Should’ve brought a fuckin’ helmet to the party!” 

Daryl swiveled around. Merle stood at his right side, knife raised and an ugly bruise already forming on his chin. He grinned and Daryl suddenly felt as though this was just some hunting trip with his brother, back in Georgia, with nothing more to worry about than biting mosquitos.

The groaning masses waltzed towards them with a speed that was shocking. Aaron fired his rifle again, but it didn’t really make a difference. Daryl lunged forward and plunged the knife into the half-rotten skull of a woman, while Merle beheaded a little boy with his knife at the end of his arm. Something tugged and tore at his jacket. There were hands in his short hair, pulling him the other way. 

A hailstone hit him on his forehead and black spots danced before his eyes. Another hit his lip and split it open. Daryl didn’t even feel it. He tried to twist away from teeth and boring fingers, tried not to lose sense of which way was up or down.

SPLASH.

Daryl reeled back, pulled out of the mob by a steady hand on his back.

“Watch it, little brother”, breathed Merle down his neck.

KLONK-KLONK-KLONK-SPLASH-KLONK.

An arm grabbed at Merles face, but before either of them could react it was gone, the limb torn from the body. Another splash and the face of a snarling walker close enough that Daryl could smell its putrid stench, burst like an overripe watermelon.

“What the –“, started Merle as more walkers tumbled to the ground with gaping holes in their rotten skulls. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t believe it! Fuckin’ nature’s now killing damn roamers!”

“Yeah, thank God”, sighed Aaron, whose left eyebrow was red and swollen. “But we need to get out of this. Or we’ll just look like them!”

“Yeah, alright”, agreed Daryl, still eyeing the masses that stumbled inside the walls, but their progress was slow as more and more finally lifeless walkers piled in the way as the hailstorm raged on without mercy.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ pussy, Darylina!”, laughed Merle. He stood unbothered in the raging storm, hailstones hitting his chest and bare head, leaving angry red splotches on his skin, similar to the one on his chin from Daryl’s fist. He had a good mind to just do it all over again, if his brother wouldn’t quit the damn nickname.

“C’mon, man, let’s –“, Daryl started and then stopped mid-sentence. He raised his arms to cover his head and eyes, squinting through the icy missiles. The walkers groaned and staggered towards them and Aaron had to hit a couple with the butt of his rifle to keep them from actually reaching them, but Daryl stood frozen like a cat stalking prey. There, blurred shadowy figures moved among the dead. They ran, fighting off walkers, dodging hailstones.

“Daryl?” Aaron’s voice came from very far. “What is it?”

Daryl didn’t answer. There were people out there. Others. Either Saviors, complete strangers or … He ran forward, shoving walkers out of his way, slashing, but not stopping to see them fall down. His heart pounded suddenly in his chest. What if … please … oh, please …

He reached the figures in a blur, not even registering that two sets of footsteps followed his. He needed to know if this was someone from his family. If they had made it. Even if it was Negan, it wouldn’t really matter. Because Daryl would finally be able to slit the throat of that bastard and watch him get torn to pieces by the walkers grabbing at him.

Daryl slithered barely to a halt before he crashed face first into the strangers. Icy water ran into his eyes, mixed with a bit of blood from a stingy head wound he didn’t know where he got that from in the first place.

“Faces! Show me yer goddamn faces!”, he yelled, pressing the knife into a chest before him.

Everything froze for a second, glazed over in a thin layer of ice and blood, when the tallest of the little group suddenly ripped the dirty scarf off his face. Daryl thought his knees would give out. Then the smaller one beside him cried, throwing arms around Daryl, and sobbed into his neck. Daryl didn’t hesitate and engulfed the shaking frame in his arms. “Maggie”, he murmured, his eyes not leaving the other man, who stared at him with his piercing blue eyes.

“You made it.” Rick’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Fuck, brother, you made it!” Then he crashed into Daryl, too, holding onto him and Maggie like a lifeline. It fucking was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this was short. I think I post another chapter later to make up for it ...


	19. The Note

The snow fell softly and silently as Paul trudged through the woods, following Michonne with an eye out for movements between the falling flakes. Glenn wasn’t far behind, a spear in his hands. It hadn’t stopped snowing for one day ever after the snow storm that had raged a few days ago and that so conveniently had rid them of most of the biters shuffling around. When it had hit, Paul and Glenn still were at the barn with the others from Hilltop, making plans – one more ridiculous than the other – about how to get out and through the hordes in front of their doors, and most importantly, where to go to.

Neither Carl nor Enid nor anybody had known something about the fire, but Eugene’s guess that probably some of the propane tanks had exploded and set some trailers on fire were the most likeable explanation in Paul’s mind. That, or the saviors really had lit up their home and everything inside to create a distraction for the biters. In fact, it could have been someone from Hilltop just as it could have been the saviors. For all they knew, they knew nothing for certain.

The hailstorm had been a gift. The already rotten corpses outside had collapsed like marionettes with cut strings, saving them the trouble to fight their way out. Matteo had whimpered during the frightening drumming of the hailstones against the barn’s roof, but he hadn’t cried. Not since that day in Hilltop, when a savior had slapped that little man so hard in the face that his whole left side was swollen and blue.

After the hailstorm was over, Paul hadn’t wasted any time and ushered everyone out of the barn. It took him some time, but he finally had found the way back to the Kingdom. He had no idea if King Ezekiel would actually let them in, since he only knew Paul, but he shouldn’t have worried. The gates had opened as soon as Paul had yelled: “It’s me, Jesus from Hilltop –“

Behind the gates the usual entourage of warriors and guardsmen had awaited them. Along with people that cried out in relief upon seeing them. Michonne had been running over, hugging Carl with Judith still cradled in his arms, and Paul had suddenly found his arms again full of a woman that had never hugged him before. Although she had smashed a door of a car once over his head. 

Sasha had murmured: “Thank God, _thank God!_ ” over and over and Paul had held her until she nodded and pulled Enid and then Eugene into a fierce hug as well. The real surprise had been Carol, who stood just inside, smiling tensely and nodding her thanks to Paul. Later that night they had shared some bread over a steaming mug of tea after having an audience with King Ezekiel and told him everything they knew, which – even with the added information from Carol, Michonne and Sasha – wasn’t very much. Only then had Carol dared to ask about Rick and Daryl. Paul had shook his head, not daring to say much more. Carol had looked at him with too knowing eyes and softly squeezed his arm.

Since that night, Paul had been outside. Securing the community by walking the woods and killing any biter that might have survived the hailstones slamming into decaying skulls. Watching out for saviors. Looking for people in need. People from Hilltop. Michonne and Glenn usually accompanied him for the very same reasons. Only they all knew, deep down they each were looking for only one face: Maggie. Rick. Daryl.

Sasha sometimes came with them. But more often than not, she stayed behind, watching the walls. Carl wanted to join them as well, but Carol made sure he watched Judith instead. Carol herself stayed behind as well, which surprised Paul at first, but then he had seen her and a kid called Henry and he suddenly understood. The people inside the walls needed protection, too.

“We should probably head back”, said Michonne in a low voice. “We’re out of food and I’m fucking freezing.” Paul glanced behind at Glenn, who nodded tiredly. They hadn’t come over anything interesting these past few days and daylight was already getting dimmer. The world morphed into gray hues that made the world around them seem almost two dimensional without any deep shadows or outlines. It reflected perfectly how Paul felt on the inside: cold, flat and lifeless. His smiles and positivity that he threw around when he was inside the walls of the Kingdom felt so forced and strained that he wondered why nobody had called him out on his bullshit yet. Jesus. That fucking persona never felt so suffocating before. Sometimes he thought he must be going insane in his head.

The only thing that helped him to keep it together and prevented him from screaming after being asked for the thousandth time if the Saviors were defeated yet, was the vest he wore underneath his coat. It felt like a weight that kept him in the here and now with his head on his shoulders and focused on the task. At least, when he was out, surrounded by other people.

At night, though, when he lay awake between all the others that were squished into the large room, because there wasn’t any more rooms with enough heating, he dreamed that it were Daryl’s arms around him, tugging him close to his body, so Paul could relax into his embrace. 

Paul had really tried not to think about that one night, right before everything went to shit. He really tried. But it was useless. Daryl’s kisses, Daryl’s moans, God, Daryl’s hands on him. Paul’s chest tightened and he felt hot all over just remembering it. Remembering how needy he must have sounded to Daryl, how utterly desperate for his touches. He had come so embarrassingly fast as if he was thirteen all over again and had just watched his first porn (two guys kissing and that had been it). Remembering the stuttered moan of his own name that had slipped out between Daryl’s lips as he had put his mouth on Daryl’s dick … Paul wanted to curl into him, breathe him in again, bury his face in the crook of Daryl’s neck and let himself be touched and kissed and held in those strong arms.

Paul was so far gone. He hadn’t meant to tell Daryl that bit about him falling in love with the man. He hadn’t even known himself then. The words had just tumbled out, but it had been worth every single second. Because Daryl just liked him back and that was something Paul never expected Daryl to actually admit out loud.

But Daryl wasn’t here. No one even knew if he or any other person from his family was still alive. They were fighters, sure, but to survive Saviors, biters and a winter hailstorm without any fatal wounds or being bitten? The chances were slim, even if your name was Daryl Dixon.

A twig snapped and Paul twirled around, torn from his thoughts of Daryl mauled and dead. Glenn stood frozen, trying to calm his breath, as he listened to the woods around them. Michonne moved silently over to Paul, standing by his shoulder, and squinted her eyes. 

Another twig broke and then they all heard voices in the distance. They instantly ducked down, crawling over to a big tree trunk to kneel between its massive roots. Paul shot their footprints a worried glance and prayed for the snow to fall quicker.

The voices moved closer, but they stopped a good distance from them. The murmur was too low to make out words, but they shared a look as barking laughter echoed through the trees. _Moustache,_ Paul thought instantly; the same time as Michonne mouthed _Simon._

Saviors. Close. Too close to the Kingdom. 

Paul gripped his knife tighter, but then Michonne’s hand landed on his. She shook her head slightly.

A voice maybe a stone’s throw away from them, spoke up: “Here are skid marks!”

Stomping and huffing, then: “Where do they lead to?”

“Not sure, it’s just that patch of frozen mud. The rest is already covered in snow. I reckon,” a long pause, then: “either heading this way or coming this way.”

“Oh really?” That was Simon’s snidely sarcasm. “Tell me more, Sherlock!”

“Man, I don’t know, okay? I’m no goddamn tracker!”

Shuffling, before another voice remarked: “As far as I know, that way is that obnoxious guy with the kingly obsession. If they went there, we can’t do much. They’re still too numerous for us. We need to find the others first, before we can pay them a visit.”

“And the other way?”, Simon huffed, clearly not happy that he had to spare the Kingdom for now. 

Paul carefully peeked around the tree, with Glenn’s hand at the back of his coat, ready to pull him back at any second. There indeed stood Simon, the man with the pornographic mustache. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder, but he didn’t look as good as the day he had stormed Hilltop. A bandage covered his left hand. Two more men and a woman stood around the patch of frozen mud as if they just found the pot at the end of the rainbow. 

A man with a massive full beard and a thick hat on his skull looked thoughtfully into the distance, which Paul estimated roughly as southeast. That way, a couple of miles down the road, lay Alexandria. And behind and further away, Oceanside. Paul’s stomach clenched painfully.

Full-Beard raised his hand and said: “Alexandria. Not sure, how the situation there is. But they probably bore the brunt of them roamers, it would have been exactly in their way.”

Simon hummed and looked into the direction of Alexandria. “What was it? The skid marks, what made them, can you tell?”

Full-Beard crouched down, touching the ground. He shrugged. “No car, too small. Probably a bike.”

“A bike?”, Simon laughed. “Couldn’t come far with that, then. They probably wanna check out their besties at Alexandria. See if there’s still something alive. Well, let’s take a look as well!”

“Wait? You wanna go over there?”, asked another man. This was Sherlock, Paul could tell from the tense voice.

“Why not?”, asked Simon with a flourish as if praising a good deal. “Heard it would be fun over there, lots of party people and the booze is free! C’mon, you pussy.”

The man grumbled, but when he saw that the others were already following Simon down the path to Alexandria, he hurriedly pulled the lapels of his jacket higher and trudged after them. 

Paul leaned back, eyeing both Michonne and Glenn. They both looked worried. “We need to get back, now”, said Michonne when they were sure the saviors had left. “Warn Ezekiel and the others.”

“Don’t you want to follow them?”, Glenn whispered.

“We can’t. We don’t have supplies and in this weather we’re easily lost or might actually step on one of them.”

“We need to warn Alexandria!”, said Paul in a low, urgent voice. Dread and worry coiled in his stomach. What they just had heard about the other community hadn’t sounded good. They probably were overrun by biters and if that had been Daryl’s destination instead of the Kingdom when he climbed over the wall of Hilltop to bring their visitors to safety, then he might be there, needing help. Paul had to find out.

Michonne grabbed his shoulder. “No. We need to get back. We need to rest and we need to get more supplies, maybe more people. Then we head to Alexandria.”

Paul stared at her determined face. Michonne wouldn’t brush off this matter. She was just as persistent and tireless as Daryl. Funny, how certain character traits seemed to run in their family, although only a few really shared blood.

“Alright, let’s head back”, Paul finally agreed. They made sure that they really were alone again, before they made their way back to the gates of the Kingdom. 

+++

When they walked through the gates, a nervous energy hummed around the Kingdom. People mingled around despite the cold and the snow, speaking lowly, but that just made the hairs at Paul’s neck stand to attention. Something had happened while they were away. But the usual strained agitation that followed an attack was missing. Instead there was … excitement? 

“What -?”, started Glenn, but Carl suddenly appeared out of the crowd of people, a huge grin on his face.

“Rick’s in Alexandria!”, he shouted, running over to them through melted snow and mud. “Maggie, too!”

“What?” Glenn leapt forward, followed by Michonne, who grabbed Carl by his shoulders as if she wanted to shake him until the truth spilled out of him.

“Yeah, they both made it! Maggie’s good, Glenn, the baby is fine!”

Glenn looked like Carl suddenly spoke in Spanish to him. “How – why – “

“Daryl’s been here, with this other guy from Alexandria!”

All air left Paul’s lungs. The floor was suddenly swaying and static filled Paul’s ears. Daryl had been here. While he was out there, looking for him. He didn’t hear anything Carl said after that. Everything looked suddenly blurred and sluggish and he just, he needed to sit down for a second or two … 

Paul stumbled, but a firm hand on his arm caught him before he could fall ass first into the dissolving snow. He blinked rapidly, but it still took him some time to bring the face into focus that stared back at him. Carol.

“How – how long?”, he stammered.

“They left maybe four hours ago”, Carol said quietly. “They just came by to check on the Kingdom. Rick’s plea. Aaron was with him. They took a bike; apparently Aaron had that hidden in his garage.”

Paul still stared at her, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.

“He wanted to wait as soon as he heard you were alive. God, he wanted to track you down out there”, said Carol with a small smile. “But Rick has a plan to close in on the remaining walkers from all sides, so they needed to head out again to reach Oceanside in time.”

Paul swallowed and tried to ask her, ask her anything. How he was, how he looked, if he seemed well. _If he had asked that about you, too,_ a voice whispered. But he couldn’t. He tried to concentrate on what Carol had just told him, that Rick wanted to move against a good hundred remaining biters in the dead of winter. His throat was dry and his tongue stuck at the roof of his mouth, unable for once to come up with words.

The sinking feeling in his stomach didn’t help either. Daryl had been here and left again without so much as a word. Paul knew that he was being childish. But he wanted something, anything, some sort of proof that Daryl had been here, at least thinking about him, too.

“I gave him his crossbow back”, said Carol, still in that quiet voice of hers. 

Paul nodded. He had kept Daryl’s crossbow close to his sleeping quarters instead of bringing it into the Kingdom’s armory. He had used the excuse to clean and repair it, but he just wanted to make sure no other used the weapon that was Daryl’s and Daryl’s alone.

“Good”, he said, with a thick voice. God, he was so pathetic.

“I should give you this.” Something rustled and a piece of paper was pressed into his palm. Carol squeezed his arm shortly with a warm smile and Paul wondered if she knew. Probably. Her and Daryl were close. Paul felt his cheeks redden for no reason at all, but Carol just smiled, really smiled, and then headed over to Glenn, who looked just as shaken as Paul felt, and Michonne, who had hugged Carl tightly with a huge grin on her face now.

Paul pulled the piece of paper apart and stared down at the spidery handwriting.

_Paul,_

_Just keep that promise. Please._

_\- D._

Paul balled his hand into a fist, crumbling the paper within, and brought it up to his lips. He stood there, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his fingers around the little note. _I dare you to break that promise, Daryl. I dare you!_

“Jesus?” He opened his eyes to find Michonne watching him with alert eyes. “Carol says we need to get ready to head out at dawn, going to Alexandria.”

Paul let his fist sink down and nodded. “You know that the skid marks those saviors found had been Daryl and Aaron, right?”, he asked darkly. 

She nodded, her brows furrowed as well. “I don’t think we need to worry about them much. We close in on the walkers, we close in on them as well. They’ll have Daryl and Aaron from the front and us in their backs.”

Paul knew logically she was right. But even Michonne didn’t seem convinced. She as well wanted to be out there as soon as possible, heading over to Alexandria to see with her own eyes that Rick was there, alive and unharmed. He nodded and clutched the note tighter in his hand.

That night, nobody seemed to get any rest. Everyone was busy preparing for their departure, packing weapons, clothes and some food. They would head out in two waves: a quick vanguard on horses and a slower, but larger party on food. Paul had never been more grateful for Wendy’s obsession with horses and the few times she had actually convinced him to be dragged to some riding lessons. At that point he had only done it, because one of the stable boys at the stables had been hot as hell. In retrospect, it had been naïve as fuck. Paul had only been maybe fourteen at that time, didn’t really have money to attend those lessons, and the stable boy was in fact a twenty-five year old man that never once glanced at his direction. 

But now, Paul could answer Ezekiel’s question with _Yes, of course I know how to ride a horse._ He would be damned if he wouldn’t be part of the van. Daryl was out there, not knowing that some of the Saviors were following them.

“Not much sleep tonight, huh?”

Paul glanced up from the knives he sharpened by firelight. Carol came over, wearing already the typical armor the Kingdom’s guards usually donned. Paul shook his head. His attention drifted back to the knife in his hand. The monotone task was calming; it kept his hands busy and since his mind wouldn’t shut down anyway, it was as good as anything he could do.

He didn’t expect Carol to take a seat next to him. She didn’t say anything for a long while and Paul almost forgot she was even there, when she said: “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Paul turned his head, glancing quickly over to her. He wanted to play dumb, but something in Carol’s face told him that this would be a bad idea. “Like what?”, he asked carefully.

Carol’s eyes flitted over to the bustling people. Glenn was checking their few guns and Michonne walked around, bouncing a squirming Judith in her arms. “Daryl wears his heart on his sleeve. He thinks, he’s unreadable but as soon as he looks at someone he genuinely cares about, you just know. The first time he held Judith in his arms, you should have seen his smile.” Her lips softly quirked upwards, as she glanced at him again. Paul wanted to squirm under that gaze. He didn’t know how Daryl was able to befriend that scary woman.

“I guess it’s the same smile he still gives her?”, he said softly.

“Yeah, it is.” She paused, then: “Did he ever tell you about that time after Terminus? Before we came to Hilltop?”

Paul shook his head. Daryl barely talked about the past, although he had opened up with Paul over the last couple of months.

“We lost some people. Lost our last home, a prison. We had a lot of people there, but then, well, life happened, you could say. We’ve been scattered and when we finally met again, it turned out that our refuge was the most horrible place to be. Anyway, Daryl worked himself into exhaustion, made sure everyone had food, had protection. He closed himself off.”

“Yeah”, Paul said, “I guess he does that.” Daryl setting others’ needs above his own was a trait that anyone could hardly miss about him.

“I told him he had to let himself feel again. I don’t think he understood what I meant at that time. I’m not sure, he understands now. But he does, feel again. It’s the way he looks at you.”

Paul didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t someone, who blushed easily, but right now, heat crept into his cheeks at her words. Carol was probably Daryl’s best friend and her acknowledging Paul as Daryl’s … whatever they were now … it felt huge. Massive. A bit like talking to the parents and Paul hadn’t liked that when it wasn’t normal to walk around with loaded guns and hidden knives. He opened his mouth to say something, although he had no idea, what exactly, but Carol beat him to it.

“If you ever so much as hurt him, be dishonest, _play with him_ , be sure I’ll make your death slow and painful.” She looked at him with that creepy housewife-smile of hers and all blood froze in Paul’s veins. “Are we clear?”

Paul swallowed. “Yeah, yes, absolutely. I wouldn’t – I would never –“

She clasped his knee and Paul actually jumped a bit at that. “I know that. You brought him back from the Sanctuary. Just wanted to make clear where we two are standing on that topic.” With that, she rose. “You should try catch some sleep. It’s gonna be long days.”

Paul blinked as Carol strode over to Glenn, engaging him in a conversation about the contents of the packs on the ground. He didn’t really know what to make of this, but if Carol really would have something against … whatever he had with Daryl now … (and how the fuck did she know anyway?) Paul was sure he would have known by now. 

Sighing, he went back to sharpening his knives, but after maybe half an hour, he left his place by the fire and sauntered over to his sleeping quarters, at least trying to shut his brain off for a couple of hours.

With the crinkled paper in his fist he shut his eyes.

_You’ll see, Daryl. I haven’t broken our promise. You better keep yours as well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're waiting for THE reunion. Patience, my dear readers ... :D It will happen, promise!


	20. The Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for war. And Merle's slurs.

The thick woolen horse blanket Daryl wore as a poncho scratched at his slightly sweaty neck. He suppressed the urge to give into the itch and grabbed the handlebar of the bike tighter. The high snow was treacherous and they made such a slow progress it would have been almost faster to give up the bike and walk.

Daryl skidded over a hidden plate of ice underneath the snow, nearly driving the bike into a tree. He yanked it around just in time, getting both tires underneath him again. Tara, huddled into his jacket and nearly swallowed by the high collar, clutched the poncho tighter and buried her face in his back against the snowflakes that bit into their faces like needles.

“You okay?”, asked Rosita, bringing the quad at his level. Aaron crouched behind her like a monkey humping a football, which wasn’t really fair, because he looked half frozen and ready to fall off like an icy statue.

Since Daryl and Aaron had actually made it as far south as Oceanside the weather had been on their side. The snowfall had eventually lessened and it had even been so warm that Daryl had taken off his jacket. The road had been a muddy way to hell and back, but it had been so worth it. At Oceanside, a lot of tense faced had greeted them when he and Aaron had finally made it, covered in mud from head to toe that it had been a miracle that they had been recognizable enough. 

Daryl hadn’t even time to explain that he wasn’t there because he needed shelter from the Saviors, but for a whole lot of other reasons, when a high scream had pierced his ears as he slowly disentangled himself from the bike. Then Tara had slammed into him, tackling him to the ground with her momentum.

After that everything was a bit dazed, which was either due to the rock that had slammed into Daryl’s skull when he fell, or to the excited chatter of way to many women talking animatedly to him and Aaron. As much as Daryl had gathered listening to confusingly overlapping conversations pounding down on him like the hailstones on the walkers mere days ago, Rosita and Tara had been the only ones that had made it from Hilltop to Oceanside. They had been with others at first, but they lost three while fleeing a herd and another had been bit in the process. Rosita had to put her out of her misery. They had lost the other two in the commotion and weren’t able to find them again.

Now, after a day’s rest to catch up on food, sleep, a shower even Daryl ached for and some more news, they were on their way back again. Both Rosita and Tara were determined to join them, although Oceanside still wanted to remain left out of their war with the Saviors. They were thankful for the warning and already had begun setting up their community in case any larger herds of walkers or Saviors wanted to pay them a visit, but other than that, they wanted to remain neutral. Daryl hated them a bit for that, because he couldn’t understand how anyone could be so passive about the shit that went on, but he bit the inside of his cheek and cleaned the bike of any mud as good as possible.

Tara seemed to have gathered quite some influence on the leader of Oceanside, a young woman named Cynthia. Oceanside didn’t have any fancy cars or trucks, hell, they didn’t even own a pig to ride on, but somehow Tara had managed to talk them into giving them one of their four little quads. 

The ride back to Alexandria was a nightmare, as the weather turned against them. First with rain that froze them to the core, then with snow so thick and heavy neither Daryl nor Rosita could see further than they could spit while driving through drifts almost waist-high. The only good thing out of that was that the goddamn geeks couldn’t get as fast to them as they wanted to. They got just as stuck and toppled over almost comically, planting face-first into the white masses. 

They put down as much walkers as they dared, but Daryl’s main goal was getting back to Alexandria, so he pushed hard. Neither of the others did object, though.

Daryl wiped his running nose at the sleeve of his thick shirt he wore underneath the hideous red-patterned poncho and glanced over to Rosita. She had refused Aaron’s parka and instead layered every single piece of clothing they could spare. She looked a bit like Bibendum. “Yeah, ‘m alright”, he shot back and revved the engine.

He just wanted to get back already. He didn’t worry so much about Rick, Maggie and the others. But he needed to tell them. The shock, the pleasantly surprising shock when Aaron and he drove into the Kingdom several days ago and being met with achingly familiar faces … Rick needed to know both his kids were safe. Carol was safe, as well as Sasha. Enid, Eugene, Earl. Even Maria and her Lil’ Rocker. Although that had been a bit awkward, because she had flung herself at Daryl and cried at his shoulder in front of everyone after already nearly being suffocated by his own family’s hugs. 

And then Carol had pried her thankfully from him, telling him with a genuine smile that there were three more people at the Kingdom that were currently out to hunt down walkers. 

Glenn.

Michonne.

_Jesus._

Daryl had almost lost it then. Paul was there. _He lived._ He hadn’t even known he moved, but he had hugged Carol tightly again, silently sobbing into her shoulder. And then she had whispered: “He got your bow back”, and Daryl didn’t care anymore for any plan Rick had made up. He wanted to wait, wanted to go out and track him down, wanted to have Paul in front of him here and now. He knew it was ridiculously childish of him, but he just wanted those green-blue eyes blink innocently at him with all the underlying mischief, just to be sure. Just to know he really was alright.

In the end, he had taken his crossbow (all cleaned and cared for and Daryl’s chest had tightened at the thought of Paul tending to his weapon) and after a short council with that guy, who called himself a king, something warm in their bellies and a few hours of rest, Aaron and him had headed out again. If everything went according to plan, they all would meet again in Alexandria. Ridding the walkers, uniting their powers.

Leaving with only that stupid note for Paul was the hardest thing Daryl thought he had ever done.

What drove him forward now was Carol’s promise to tell him. To meet them all at Alexandria.

Their ride dragged for almost three more hours before finally the torn and crumbled walls of Alexandria came into view. If Daryl hadn’t been there himself when it all happened he would be worried sick about the people that lived inside these walls at the sight of the whole place. The ground before the walls was littered with the unmoving bodies of the dead, most skulls smashed in and limbs broken and twisted. The snow had started to eat the piles up slowly, but enough were still visible. Some new hollows in between the mounts of decaying and frozen corpses, results from the few grenades that Alexandria had possessed, intensified the image of a moonscape on Earth. Burnt shells of houses loomed like giant, rotting teeth towards the stale-grey sky.

Daryl carefully maneuvered the bike through the labyrinth of frozen gore, torn limbs and dead bodies towards the gaping hole of the gate. Someone at least had put up an enforced chain-link fence during their absence. Probably Rick’s doing.

“My God, this looks like the Battle of Waterloo”, Tara grunted at his back.

Daryl snorted. “Why? Walkers French or somethin’?”

“What? Why French?”

Daryl furrowed his brows. “Didn’t ya learn anythin’ at that fancy school of yers? The French lost. Been defeated devastatingly.”

Tara harrumphed. “It was a state school, just so you know, you dick. And second, I hated History classes, so excuse me if I got a little confused with all the battles during the war of independence, Professor Dixon.” 

Daryl quickly threw her a glance over his shoulder, before turning back, shaking his head in disbelief. The guards at the gate yelled something at others deeper inside the community, before someone came running, pulling the chain-link open so they could drive through. The figure was so bundled up in scarves and blankets that Daryl wasn’t even sure if it was a man or a woman. He didn’t stop behind the gate, instead he steered the bike further down the road towards the church that had become some sort of headquarters since Rick and Maggie had set foot inside these walls. 

“What?”, Tara asked incredulous as he pulled up in front of the once elegant white building. Now, it looked a bit more ragged with black smoke marks and some beaten-in windows. 

Daryl killed the engine and slid off the bike after Tara. “Battle of Waterloo was a couple years later than the War of Independence, Tara. Was a European battle. The French ‘gainst an alliance that ended Napoleon’s rulin’.” He flipped her on the head. “Unsophisticated brat.”

Tara stared at him. “How do you _know_ such things?”, she asked, rubbing her forehead absent-mindedly. 

Thankfully, Rosita pulled up beside them at the same moment as Rick thundered down the few steps of the church, followed closely by Maggie. Daryl watched them hug and laugh with Tara and Rosita, chewing at the inside of his cheek. A tight feeling in his chest made it hard to breathe.

“Hey, Daryl.” Rick entangled himself from the group hug and came over, eyes serious. “How did it go?” _How are the other communities? Are they still able to stand and fight?_ Maggie wedged herself beside Rick. _Did you find more of our family?_

“That Kingdom sure as hell looks better than this place. Lots of people there.” He locked eyes with Rick. “Carl’s there with Judith. Carol. Eugene and Sasha. Hilltop people. Michonne and Glenn, too, although I didn’t see them, they were on a run –“

Daryl was cut off by hands in his hair that yanked him towards Maggie. Her green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Glenn’s _alive?_ ”

“Didn’t see him, Mags. They were out, on a run. We couldn’t wait long enough with the weather and all –“ Bullshit. They could have. _Should_ have. He would have made it work with Aaron. They would have made it to Oceanside a bit later, but that wouldn’t have mattered. Tara and Rosita would have been there still. They should have waited for them to return. Should have waited, so Maggie could be absolutely sure that her husband – 

Daryl startled, as Maggie’s lips were suddenly on him, pressing a smack on his lips that felt a bit wrong ( _too soft, too smooth_ ). Then she was gone again, laughing at him with dancing eyes, before she hugged him, too. 

“Thank you”, she whispered in his ear.

Daryl felt himself turn red. “Didn’t do nothin’.” Over her shoulder, he could see Rick staring at him. 

“Michonne …? And Carl and Judith?”

Daryl nodded, his arms still full of Maggie, who now kissed his cheek, before she let him go. Rick made a step forward. Daryl stepped back. “Oh no, not ya too!”

Rick stopped, looking a bit confused, before a grin spread across his face and he practically leapt at Daryl, who put up a weak attempt of a fight, before pulling his brother into the embrace as well. “Sorry I didn’t stay to make sure she’s alright”, he said lowly into Rick’s thick jacket.

“Don’t be, if they say she’s there and out scouting, than she’s alright.” Rick straightened, clapping Daryl on the shoulder with a nod that said so much more than _Thank you_. His eyes wandered over to Aaron, who had watched their reunion silently, and gave him a grateful nod as well, asking him how the trip went in his opinion. 

Daryl knew he only needed Aaron’s input to paint an even more detailed picture of their current situation, and moved over to the bike and pulled his bow off the rack.

“You got your bow back?”

Daryl glanced up to meet Maggie’s eyes. He stilled for a moment, undecided, then said: “Paul did.” He could see Tara’s eyebrows raise to her hairline from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t feel like he could stomach more hugs and kisses right now. Maggie’s face turned soft and Daryl suddenly felt mortified. Maggie had walked in on them. She hadn’t really said anything back then and Daryl didn’t want to hear it now either. So he slung the bow over his back, its weight familiar and soothing, and walked down the road with a glance back at Rick. “Gonna check the walls.”

+++

He should have stayed with Rick and the girls, more hugs and kisses be damned. On his way around the community to check the hasty repairs on the walls and scan the roads and snow-covered backyards for a walker they somehow missed, he had come across Eric, who helped fixing a tear in one of the wall’s segments. 

They had talked briefly about the trip, Eric grinning the whole time. Who could blame him? He just got his husband back in one piece. 

“Wanna come over for dinner tonight?”, Eric asked. “I’m making a mean pasta.”

Daryl shuffled uncomfortably. “Don’t wanna intrude. ‘s yer first evening back together and all.”

“So?”, Eric laughed. “It’s just dinner. We’ll kick you out right after, I promise!” He sobered up a bit. “Just as a thank you for bringing him back? It would mean a lot to me. You don’t have to watch us kissing or any of that stuff –“

“Nah, ‘s alright. The kissing stuff, I mean.” Daryl’s ears grew hot. “’m not like that.”

“No, you’re not.” 

Eric eyed him with a sincerity that Daryl felt to his core. He dropped his gaze. “I’ll come by.”

“Yeah? Great! Be there at around eight!” Eric’s enthusiasm was palpable. The sudden thought that Paul would have been thrilled at being invited over for dinner with these two hit him so unexpectedly that Daryl gritted his teeth. _God, Paul, whatever ya do, keep that fuckin’ promise. Keep it and come back to me._ Daryl turned his head into the cold wind, staring into nothing with open eyes, until they watered due to the cold and not because he was a pathetic little pussy.

He gave a sharp nod to Eric, who grinned like a child at Christmas and then went back to work at the wall. Daryl watched the five men there for a moment, before he blew out the air in his lungs that he wasn’t even aware he was holding.

“What’s up, baby brother? Didn’t know yer back. Didn’t say hello to Merle, did ya?”

Daryl tried not to roll his eyes. “It’s not always about ya, Merle”, he grunted as he resumed his way around the community.

“No? Guess not.” Merle kept up with his pace, trotting beside him. For once, he didn’t say more and Daryl was almost at peace with him walking beside his brother, just like the old times when they went hunting together. Not dead people but deer and rabbits, with nothing to worry about safe for the next place to sleep and a cool beer. Well, in Merle’s case, for another noseful of white dust as well.

But of course Merle had to open that mouth of his again. “Was real sweet, ya know. Watching yer little girlfriend slobber ya in public. Never seen ya like that. She’s hot, I guess, under all that layers and the big scowl on her face.”

Daryl gave Merle a sharp look. “Maggie’s not my girlfriend. And stop thinking about how she looks _under all that layers_.”

Merle laughed and held his arms up in mock surrender. “Why, ya gonna punch me? Gonna defend the girl’s honor, Darylina?”

Daryl gripped Merle by the lapels of his ill-fitting jacket and yanked him close, hissing into his face: “No, she’ll do that herself, ya asshole! But ya gonna stop bitchin’ about my sister!”

Merle looked honestly startled for a second, before he erupted with roaring laughter. “Yer – yer _sister!?_ These other chicks, too?” He almost doubled over with laughter and Daryl suddenly wanted to smash his teeth in. The urge to punch Merle square in the jaw had been there during all these years when he was stupid enough to follow Merle around with nothing better to do. But right now, he was on the literal verge of just doing it. The only thing that prevented the fight was Merle himself, who suddenly sobered up like a switch had been turned. He grabbed Daryl around his neck, pulling his face right into his own. “Ya don’t have a sister!”, he hissed with venom. “Ya don’t have a brother ‘cept for me! _I’m_ yer family, _I’m_ yer kin, yer blood! Not these people!” He practically spat the last word in Daryl’s face. “Nobody’s ever gonna care ‘bout ya but me, little brother!”

Suddenly, Daryl was fuming. He had tried to act goddamn civil with Merle ever since he met him again in this community. Tried to even out his ass-shit actions and comments, made sure that Merle stayed away from certain people. But Merle was just being Merle and even after the world had gone to shit he hadn’t learned the one fundamental fact that had Daryl given a family despite everything.

Grabbing Merle’s wrist he twisted his arm away from him. “Ya can’t do shit without people anymore, Merle. Thought ya learned that as yer made it this far. If not, ya better learn fast, cause it’s gonna bite ya in the ass one day and I won’t be there to safe yer skin.”

“Yeah? Just like ya were leaving me on that roof?”

“No, Merle, next time, I won’t be even lookin’!” He pushed his brother away and turned around to leave. “Get yer shit together, man. Yer not as dumb as ya lead them people on.”

Merle didn’t say anything or followed him. Good. He better started thinking, that dumb old idiot.

+++

Three days crawled by slowly. The snowfall had stopped sometime between the first and the second night, leaving the world muffled and muted in too much white. Daryl trotted around, making rounds outside the walls, while the people of Alexandria tried to fortify their community under Rick’s instructions. Daryl sometimes butted in with suggestions when he saw potential weak spots on his rounds.

It was good to do something. To keep his head occupied.

Three days and still no sign from the Kingdom. Something must have happened. There was no way why they should be this late that shouldn’t immediately put everyone on alert. This meant they had run into a herd of walkers, got stuck somewhere or even worse, had encountered Saviors. These people still had to be out there. Daryl hadn’t killed one of them while making it over to Alexandria and Rick and Maggie had only met a handful.

The main force of the Saviors was still out there and Daryl wanted to vomit his insides with approaching dread. If something had happened to them … if something had happened to Paul and Daryl hadn’t waited for his return when he was at the Kingdom … He didn’t know he would be able to live with that guilt.

So he was constantly moving. Otherwise he would lash out nastily, he knew that. His pacing put everyone at edge, but Daryl didn’t care. Rick and Maggie were keyed up themselves, they only hid it better. 

It was almost a physical relief when the shout from the gates came. Daryl exited their makeshift armory, which didn’t held much weapons in the first place and now looked terribly empty with most people carrying the guns. He had just checked on the arrows for the few bows Alexandria possessed. They were almost brand-new. Not one of their residents apparently knew how to use them or was at least confident enough to shoot arrows in a fight. Another thing that needed fixing.

He met Rick halfway to the gate, walking as briskly as the solidified snow would allow. He looked grim, but underneath that impressive beard, Daryl could make out the hints of a happy grin.

Just then, a high-pitched whistle ripped through the air. 

Both Daryl and Rick froze to the ground. _One is for walkers_ … Daryl had taught them the warning calls just yesterday. _Two is for enemies …_

It was silent. Everyone and everything seemed frozen, waiting dreadfully. Daryl could see Tara on the porch of Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary with her hand midway towards the doorknob. 

A second whistle yelled.

The whole place exploded with movement. Suddenly everyone was running, grabbing for weapons, yelling for others. In under five minutes, the guards on the walls had retreated into the inner circle they had constructed over the last couple of days. They had used all kind of boxes, cars, scrapes of the wall’s metal plates and other, heavy stuff they could come up with, and put everything in a circle around the church and the houses nearby. This way Alexandria was easier to defend, Rick had declared. Deanna had accepted that after a round of bitching and turning every word Rick had said around. Daryl had added the spears that jutted outwards to keep anyone trying to come closer at bay or at least slow down their approach. They hadn’t built this thing to withstand a hostile attack, though. They had built this for incoming herds of walkers.

Shit. They were fucked.

Rick turned around to Daryl. “You know what to do?”

As if he needed to ask that question. “Sure”, Daryl growled back, eyes on the chain-link gate in the distance. “But you’ll need me –“

“Daryl. The plan doesn’t change. You and Rosita. Now go!”

Daryl looked at Rick’s determined face and just knew he lost. Well, there never was a chance of winning against Rick’s thick skull, anyway. He nodded. “Stay safe.”

Rick gave a sharp nod as an answer. “You too, brother.”

Then Daryl turned around, jogging back to the armory, snatching ammunition for Rosita’s assault rifle and the bolts he had made these last nights, and bolted up the stairs of the church’s spire. Rosita was already up there, crouching in the snow with the rifle already positioned between the fragile looking balustrade. Like him, she wore layers of thick sweaters under an old blanket.

“Hey”, she said, barely glancing up at him. “Can you put some of that snow on me? I feel colorful like a clownfish in all this white shit.”

Daryl dumped the closest overhang unceremoniously onto her and crouched down. Rosita hissed, as snow trickled between her layers. 

“Cabrón”, she said softly, not taking her eyes away from the lens of her scope.

Daryl didn’t pay her much mind. Carefully he wrestled with the opening in the balustrade, making the hole a notch bigger. “Can you see who it is?”

Rosita was silent, while Daryl robbed around their vantage point to make sure there weren’t any unpleasant surprises at their backs. He could now hear engines roaring. Bastards even had cars or some shit.

“They’ve got chained walkers”, Rosita said softly, almost as if she was dreaming. “They chained them to cars and even got one snowmobile. But they’re mainly on foot.”

Daryl grunted as he slumped down next to her, pulling his crossbow from his back. On a torn blanket he dumped Rosita’s ammunition and his bolts.

“Walkers not one of us. At least as far as I can tell.” She quickly looked up from the scope and eyed the ammunition beside her, before she threw Daryl a quick glance as well. She groaned: “Couldn’t you have picked a more obvious blanket?”

“Sorry, was a little busy”, he snapped back irritated. He still wore that red and fawn monstrosity the women in Oceanside had given them on their way back. The old horse blanket was in fact quite warm and a bit water-repellent, which was the only reason he hadn’t ditched that scratchy thing yet.

“God, at least lie down!”

Daryl did as Rosita said, wishing he could push another handful of snow down the back of her neck. He pressed himself into a small drift, hoping that would be cover enough.

“It’s them”, Rosita suddenly said, going stiff like a board. “I think I recognize some of them. From the day they came to – that’s Negan!”

Daryl peered through his makeshift arrow slit, but he couldn’t see shit. “How many of them?” Negan. Fucking _Negan_ was here. He wasn’t a dead guy stumbling around waiting for a knife to his head. No, that bastard was of course alive!

“Hard to count, they mix with the walkers, but I’d say … probably sixty. Maybe more.”

Sixty?! How on Earth had Negan been able to gather again sixty of his men? Alexandria’s population had dwindled down to not even thirty. Add the survivors like himself, Rick, Rosita and the others, they were maybe roughly forty. At most. 

Rosita flicked off the safety of her gun. “Well, let’s change that.”

The fight that followed was ugly and brutal. Rosita and Daryl only had an advantage for so long as no one figured out where the bullets and bolts came from. But since the spire was the only elevated building within their little circle, it didn’t take long for the Saviors to aim in their direction.

Unfortunately, they had somehow managed to keep that fucking RPG that they had scrounged from them after their first visit to Hilltop. Rosita and him had both taking out one Savior after the other or the occasional walker with clean head-shots, when Daryl had spotted the weapon in the arms of one of the man.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

“What, Dixon?”

“Rocket launcher! At two o’clock!”, Daryl managed to utter right before his vision exploded into wooden splinters, bursting glass and burning shrapnel, that bit through his clothes and into his skin. The very ground underneath him dropped and Daryl grabbled uselessly for purchase at something – anything. His fingers caught on wood and he ripped at least two of his own nails clean out. He heard Rosita scream, but it was strangely muffled. His ears rang too fucking loud.

He tried to grab her, but his vision was blurry and he missed her outstretched arm by probably some inches. 

The fall was short and painful. He landed on something hard that drove all air out of his lungs. Daryl groaned, trying to get his feet back under him. _Fucking bastard._ He looked around with blurry eyes, tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Above his head, something cracked and Daryl looked up just in time to throw himself to the side and roll away from the ceiling crashing down. 

Rosita. Where was Rosita?

Daryl opened his mouth to shout for her. She had been there just seconds ago. Where was she _now?!_

Thick black smoke crawled down his throat and Daryl coughed violently. Something burst in a cascade of flames and blazing sparks, spitting fire and ashes on him. He rolled around, crawling over the floor. The benches still stood, but debris and half the roof had collapsed into the church’s main room.

A low creak came from Daryl’s right and the big, heavy cross slammed to the ground, missing Daryl by a hand. He shoved the dirt aside, burning his hands and coughing so hard his whole frame trembled with exhaustion. 

Rosita. She had to be somewhere.

His hand stumbled across something cool in all the heat. He fumbled for a second, then pulled out his crossbow from beneath wooden beams and boards. A bolt was still notched. Daryl slung it over his shoulder, crawling through the burning ruins. 

A hand. 

Daryl pushed wood and tiles aside. Rosita lay there, unmoving, her whole face covered in blood.

A moan, followed by a hiss. Something hot smashed into the benches behind him.

He pulled Rosita out by her armpits and cradled her into his arms. Her blanket was burning, eating already at her skin. Daryl ripped it off her, beating at the flames until they died down. Staggering and coughing, he rose to his feet. He couldn’t see a thing, everything was blazing red and scorching hot. The air itself burned. Staggering, he made his way over to where he guessed the door had been. Something dropped onto his arm, biting through his clothes and setting his arm ablaze, but he didn’t stop. He knew, if he stopped now, he wouldn’t get them out.

He walked, through the flames and into cool air and a blinding whiteness. Screams. Screams everywhere. Something red splattered in the white. Blood. 

He staggered on. The spitfire of guns close to his ears. More screams. Someone came running towards him, but he fell, dropped dead with a clean shot through the head.

Daryl didn’t know what was happening. But it was clear as day that the Saviors were slaughtering his people. His head felt woozy and everything around him looked surreal as though he was dreaming all this bloodshed.

_Waterloo. This is like Waterloo, Tara,_ he thought. _And we’re fuckin’ Napoleon._

He gently put Rosita down under some piece of overlaying and twisted metal plate. She looked horrible, half her face was a bloodied mess and her back was an open, oozing wound. As he laid her into the snow, he could practically hear the cold hissing at the contact of her burnt skin.

The snow crunched behind him a fraction before the hair at his neck stood with horror. Daryl whipped around, pulling his crossbow in front of him in one swift motion, but he was still down in the snow, head spinning and ears ringing. It took him a moment too long to figure out, who stood before him.

“Oh. My. _God!_ Look who crawled out of his little cave!” Negan’s voice boomed as though the ongoing terror was something very far away, something that couldn’t touch him. 

Daryl froze. He couldn’t explain otherwise, why he didn’t jump up into that face and drive his fists into it. He just crouched – kneeled – there like an idiot, staring up into that grin. Negan had a rifle in one hand, but he slang it over his shoulder, watching Daryl watch him.

“You know, Daryl, I always fantasized about meeting you again. You and Lucille, together … or that iron, although I know it would never teach you the same lesson as it taught Dwight. By the way, I still miss my man. You happen to know where he is?”

“Hope that fucker’s dead”, Daryl spat. His legs still refused to work, but his arms hadn’t forgotten the motion of taking aim with his bow. They were trembling, though, screaming in agony, and the bolt pointing at Negan quivered from left to right and back again.

“Funny. He had that beautiful thing the last time I saw him”, Negan said conversationally, swinging that damn bat up on his shoulder. “Such a shame, but I guess he’s dead. I’d really like to know how he died.” He looked around as if this was mildly interesting for him.

But Daryl knelt before him and couldn’t move his finger to finally pull the trigger. Instead, he crouched in the snow like a damn coward, while this man butchered his family.

“You know what, Daryl? I really missed you. Life just wasn’t the same without your thickheaded attempts at bravery and –“

THUMP. SPLASH.

Negan coughed. Blood spilled over his lips. 

A distant rumbling shook the ground, vibrating through Daryl’s knees that slowly got wet from the thawing snow underneath.

Blood gushed around the bolt in Negan’s throat. The bat in his hands slid to the ground. Negan reached up with a hand, as if trying to feel for the blood oozing down his forehead from the tiny hole of a bullet that gaped between his eyes. Then he slumped down unceremoniously, collapsing back upon himself and Daryl saw the bolt exiting between that red scarf and Negan’s hairline at the back of his skull. Right next to the hilt of a knife.

A knife Daryl knew very well.

“Watch out!” Maggie’s shout was close and Daryl whirled around in time to get to his feet and club the approaching walker in the head with such momentum that the skull flew a few feet and exploded in the flames of the burning church behind him.

The thundering noise grew closer and Daryl cursed, pushing his crossbow at his back and yanking the knife out of Negan’s dead head. He stood over the corpse as Maggie crashed into him. In her hands was a gun.

“He dead?”

Before Daryl could give an answer, a sound Daryl hadn’t heard in ages tore through the cold air. Somewhere, a horse whinnied. Maggie stared just as wide-eyed as him at the fucking cavalry that suddenly tore through the damaged walls of Alexandria. People in strange armor held spears and bows as well as some guns in their hands, falling into the Saviors’ backs. The screams rose again, but this time they didn’t make Daryl’s blood freeze. They made it boil.

The Saviors didn’t stand a chance. They got blindsided, calling for Negan, who wouldn’t lift a finger again.

Daryl’s pulse raced. He scanned the people on the horses in their strange armor. The same armor Peter from the Kingdom had worn. Kingdom had come. They had made it. Daryl saw that guy Ezekiel splitting the skull of a walker in half with his spear. There was Carol, smashing an axe into the chest of the guy with the beanie, who had blown up the church with the RPG. Michonne, looking like an incarnate nightmare of a samurai warrior.

Beside him, Maggie gasped. “Glenn”, she whispered and started to run, just as he spotted them and rode over.

Daryl clutched the knife in his hand tighter. Scanned the crowd quicker with a frantically beating heart now.

A pained screech came from his right and Daryl ran over, ignoring Maggie’s shout. A small herd had formed with rotting and fresh walkers, who now tore into one of the horses. The man atop tried to stop them, but they already sunk their teeth into the screaming animal. The man balanced on the reeling horse, then did the only thing he could in that moment. He jumped right off and over the herd, crashing into the snow and rolling over one shoulder to dampen his fall.

He wore the same armor, but his hair was up in a bun and a bandana covered the lower half of his face.

A few of the walkers turned around, losing interest in the horse and instead came for the still dazed man.

“Paul!”, Daryl yelled, running as fast as the snow would allow.

He looked up, eyes so unbelievingly blue that Daryl could even see their color from this distance. He pulled his bandana down, a huge smile splitting his face in half, but Daryl only saw the snapping teeth behind him.

“Duck!”

He threw Paul’s knife with all he had without stopping to aim.

Daryl had never prayed before for his aim to be true. But he did it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at last. Life got in the way - sort of ;-)


	21. The Light

Paul was exhausted to the bones. The battle in Alexandria was over, but there was so much to do. Everything had been chaos that now needed sorting. Among killing biters and arresting surrendering Saviors, people searched desperately for loved ones. The makeshift fort in the middle of the huge community was a burnt shell. Houses had collapsed and buried people underneath them. While Paul helped putting out fires, he had caught another glimpse of Daryl, pulling a lifeless Rosita out of the rubble around the former church. It had burned to the ground and everyone around Paul frantically threw water and melting snow on the ambers to prevent the flames from flashing over to the still intact houses.

After that, he again had lost Daryl in the crowd.

Night fell sometime and Paul still hurried around, getting people into the houses, where they could find blankets and a hot soup being prepared by someone. He helped others over to the makeshift infirmary, where he met Tara assisting a woman, who nervously recited passages from medicine books under her breath. Her hands, though, were calm and sure.

“Hey”, he greeted Tara tiredly, lowering an older man carefully onto a chair. He had a gunshot wound in his bicep, but nothing worse.

“Hey”, she answered, coming over to pull gently the man’s armor away. Paul didn’t remember his name, but he had been with them from the Kingdom. “How are you feeling?”, she asked the man.

“Alright, sweetie. I won’t die from that.”

Tara gave him a tired smile. “You sound pretty sure. Are you a nurse, perhaps?”

“No”, the man barked out with a laugh. “Been to Vietnam. That had taught me a thing or two about gunshot wounds. Just clean it and put a bandage around my arm. I think I can help here with the others.”

“Alright.” Tara smiled again and Paul got some antiseptics and clean bandages from the cabinet behind the doctor. While they patched up the guy, he asked: “How’s Rosita? I’ve seen Daryl carrying her over.” He didn’t add that she had looked more dead than alive.

Tara quickly looked up, then focused on the man’s arm again. “She needs surgery, but first, we need to cool her down a bit. She got severely burned, but she’s stable now. Denise … Denise’ll do her best.”

“I could help with that”, threw the man in. “Assist her.”

“Learnt a thing or two about burns as well?”, Tara asked softly. Paul didn’t know that doctor of Alexandria very well, but given that Denise was approximately the same age as Tara, she surely hadn’t enough experience for dealing with people that just had survived a gruesome battle. Paul wracked his brain if he had seen Dr. Carson somewhere, but he couldn’t even remember if he had seen him after the fall of Hilltop at all.

“Yeah, you could say that”, the man laughed, testing the fresh bandage over his arm. “I’m Declan.”

“Tara. This is Jesus.”

“Jesus, huh? Well, thank you for watching over us.”

Paul just grinned weakly, before nodding his good-bye and exiting the infirmary again. He helped a little girl next, who had lost her father in the chaos; then exchanged a few words with Michonne and Rick, before he got some hot tea and a never-ending bear-hug from Maggie, which he returned full force. 

During the crisp cold night, everyone eventually huddled up inside, deciding that they would resume the cleanup with the first light of day. Paul was a bit lost as to where he should go. He would definitely not follow Maggie and Glenn to one of the intact houses. Not with the obvious tension between them and the heart-eyes they threw at each other while slinking away in the night. Rick had said something about Aaron being more than happy to have him over, but Paul hadn’t seen him and Rick was also in for the night after Michonne talked him out of watch duty with the same determination Maggie had shown Glenn earlier. 

Well, guess who would get laid tonight.

Paul sighed, pulling his coat tighter over his armor. He should ditch that stiff thing. But first, he needed to find Daryl. Even if he was probably the one on watch tonight, he just needed to see him again. To make sure, Daryl was okay. Just to hold him for a second. Just – 

Paul yelped in surprise as something grabbed his arm and yanked him between two houses. He was already twisting to throw the thing – the person – over his shoulder and jab his knee into a sternum, as he caught a flash of blue eyes.

“Daryl …”, he breathed. 

Daryl looked just as tired as he felt. His hair was singed over his left temple, where a deep cut run through his eyebrow. It was already taped with a butterfly patch, so at least someone had looked him over for injuries already. His face was dark with smeared ashes and dried blood, but otherwise he looked whole. The rough, woolen poncho he wore, though, was splattered with something dark that looked suspiciously like blood.

“Ain’t mine. ‘s Rosita’s. Ain’t dead, she’s fightin’.”

Hearing that deep voice again just seemed to snap something inside Paul. He lunged at Daryl, who staggered back until his back hit a wall, but Daryl didn’t seem to care. He pulled Paul into his arms, burying his face in Paul’s neck.

Breathing was hard. Paul chocked on air as he nosed at Daryl’s hair, his ear, his pulse point. With trembling lips he chased the sweat there, kissing Daryl’s gruff jawline, his temple, the corner of his eye, everything he could reach. He was here. He was alive.

_“Paul.”_

His name, whispered like that, just knocked every sense from his mind. Paul pulled back, just an inch, and Daryl’s grip on him tightened instantly. But Paul leaned in again without any preamble, kissing Daryl hard on the mouth. Daryl growled and that sound vibrated through Paul. He didn’t try to use any finesse now, he just kissed Daryl roughly with teeth, pushing his tongue between open lips, tugging Daryl impossibly closer. Daryl responded in kind, kissing him with frenzy and burying his hand in Paul’s bun. God, this wasn’t even enough. Paul couldn’t get a grip on Daryl, not on his skin, didn’t feel muscles shift underneath his fingertips. He whined with frustration, attacking the stupid poncho and got tangled in the damn thing. Then there was a hand on his ass, pushing him up one of Daryl’s legs and Paul’s mouth fell open with a moan.

“God, Daryl, please tell me you’re not on watch tonight.”

Daryl’s breath came in white foggy puffs. His lips looked red and swollen and Paul wanted to kiss him forever.

“Nah. You?”

“No.”

They stood staring at each other for a while, both with heaving chests pressed together. In the darkness, Paul could barely see. A hand curled around his wrist as Daryl pushed him gently back, then tugged him forward. “C’mon. Got a room.” Daryl had turned his head forward, but Paul meant he saw Daryl’s ears turned a shade darker than from the biting cold. With a fluttering stomach, Paul followed him down the street and into one of the houses. 

It was dark inside, but Daryl had no problem maneuvering around cupboards and other tripping hazards. They quietly made it up into the attic and Paul felt stupidly giddy that Daryl still held his hand tightly. The room, where Daryl led him into was cold and even darker than the rest of the house. Paul felt a bit lost as Daryl let go of his hand, but then a gas lamp flickered to life. It bathed the room in a warm light and Paul was finally able to take in his surroundings. The attic was small with two windows through the roof. A beaten-up chair sat in one corner, close to a little nightstand that Daryl obviously had used as a makeshift desk to pile bolts and some whetstones on it. In the other corner, directly under the windows lay a mattress with a pile of blankets on the floor.

“Sorry, isn’t much.”

Daryl shifted from one foot to the other, not coming over to Paul again. He could taste the nervousness Daryl emitted and if he was being honest, he wasn’t so cool himself. The last time they had seen each other like this, in a room with a door and a mattress, they … well … had done things that made Paul’s dick spring into action just remembering it. If Daryl was not up for a repetition, that was fine. Paul was just happy to be here, to see Daryl again, whole and alive.

With a hammering heart, he stepped over to Daryl, who stood stiff like a board as if dreading anything Paul would do. It was a totally different picture than the one mere moments ago, outside, between dark houses. But Daryl had invited him in. He wanted to have Paul here. Right?

Paul nervously bit his lip as he stopped right in front of Daryl. “Hi”, he said like a complete moron, as if they just hadn’t seen, hadn’t kissed each other as though their life depended on it. But Paul didn’t know what the proper protocol in their case was. They hadn’t talked about anything that had happened between them, didn’t have a chance to.

Daryl’s eyes flickered down to his lips and that made Paul’s heart jump. But he didn’t move to touch Paul, just stood there and Paul was afraid if he moved first, Daryl would bolt like an animal. To his surprise, Daryl was the first to break the silence: “Ya alright?”

“Yeah”, Paul sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m okay now.”

“Ya hurt?”

Paul took a tiny step forward. Daryl let him. “No. Not seriously, at least.”

“No – no bites? Ya checked?”

Daryl’s eyes burned with an intensity that made Paul’s toes curl. He swallowed and asked with a thick voice he barely recognized as his own: “Well, no, not yet.” Then he let his coat slide from his shoulders.

Paul felt extremely self-conscious, although he still wore enough clothes to survive the cold outside, but Daryl still just stood there, staring. Paul was about to backtrack, because he felt like a complete fool having dropped his coat like a slutty housewife might have dropped her negligee for the hot postman, when Daryl lifted his right hand slowly.

“Where did ya get this?”

“Huh?” Paul glanced down at himself, not sure what Daryl meant. Then his fingers brushed lightly over worn leather and a laugh escaped Paul’s throat. Oh. _That._ “Well, let’s just say my meeting with that scarface didn’t go like the last one.”

Daryl grasped the lapels of the leather vest as if making sure it was real. “Whadda ya mean?”

“Pulled the gun on him this time. That asshole had your bow as well, so …”, Paul trailed off, lifting his head to throw Daryl a smirk. Only, it slipped off his face as soon as he saw the look on Daryl’s face. He didn’t even had time to react to the burning heat, because Daryl yanked him forward by the lapels, crashing their mouths together.

Paul certainly wasn’t complaining. Far from it. He melted against Daryl with a shaky exhale that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief; as though he doubted that Daryl still wanted him. He let Daryl set the pace for this, because he had looked so uncertain and Paul didn’t want him to be it. He wanted Daryl, everything he was willing to give Paul and if it were kisses like Paul was some wonder, he certainly wouldn’t say no.

The kisses were different from the ones from outside. This time, Daryl was slower. After the initial hard press, he tentatively moved against Paul as if he was afraid to break him or too stunned by his own actions. Paul didn’t dare to move, because he was certain he would push Daryl back against the wall, sink to his knees and just blow Daryl’s mind again. The kiss was so soft as though it was their first time and Paul shuddered as Daryl’s lips skimmed over his when he whispered in a low rasp: “Ya didn’t have to.”

It took a second for Paul’s brain to come back online and provide him with the previous topic. Right, Scarface. Daryl’s vest. “Was nothing. Weren’t his things to take and keep.”

Warm hands cupped his face when Daryl pulled him in again and kissed him with a thoroughness that made Paul’s knees buckle. He couldn’t help it, he whimpered in the back of his throat and his fingers fought the goddamn poncho again. He absolutely needed to touch Daryl right now, feel his warm skin against his palms again. Paul forgot about his own resolution and pushed against Daryl, opening his lips and pressing his tongue between Daryl’s. God, he needed to stop being so bossy and pushy, because Daryl sure as hell wanted this to go slow, but Paul couldn’t keep it in his pants, obviously. 

He was about to take a step back and breathe for a second, but then Daryl’s hands on his cheeks moved into his hair and suddenly the kiss turned into a hot mess of an urgent push and shove. Paul bit into Daryl’s lower lip and the groan that dropped from his mouth made Paul’s hip jerk forward on his own. 

“Shit, Daryl, could you … God, that fucking thing … take that off, please”, Paul babbled, pulling at the poncho. He already dove back in, not waiting for Daryl to comply, because he just needed to kiss him again. It was like Daryl might be a dream and if Paul waited a second too long, everything would just dissolve into thin air with a puff.

“Only if ya take the fuckin’ cuirass off”, Daryl huffed between kisses and bites. He pulled at the armor covering Paul’s chest, clearly frustrated that he couldn’t find the fastening on his own.

Paul leaned back and stared at Daryl. He looked absolutely gorgeous, his face flushed, his lips swollen and his eyes dark and dangerous. God, Paul wanted him.

“Cuirass, huh?”, he asked with an arched eyebrow, because he really needed a second to calm down. Otherwise he would just come in his pants and that was even more embarrassing than coming on Daryl five seconds after he had touched himself. Just thinking about how idiotic that must have made him in Daryl’s eyes was enough to get himself back under control for a bit. He had never made such a fool of himself, but he just needed to look at Daryl and everything inside him turned into jelly, including his brain.

“’s what that’s called, stupid”, answered Daryl, and dear God, his voice was pure gravel.

Paul pushed Daryl’s vest gently off his shoulders and draped it over the chair, before he yanked at the fastenings of his armor. He let it clatter to the floor, already pushing his other layers over his head until everything lay in a heap to his feet, when he realized that Daryl hadn’t moved an inch, instead watched him strip with slightly parted lips. 

Before the world had gone to shit, Paul loved to do this. Stripping in front of someone, giving his lover at the time a good show, teasing until the other was drooling just from watching him getting naked. With the dead rising, Paul had thought he would never do this again. But here he was, putting himself on display for Daryl, who stood and watched and Paul had never felt like he was the one getting tortured by this, but that was what this was now. 

Daryl stared at the lines of his stomach that even after all this time hadn’t built up to any significant _killer_ abs to show off. He stared at his too flat chest and the ridiculously sparse, but curly hair there. Paul swallowed and tried not to fidget, tried not to cover himself with his hands. God, Daryl had probably expected some more muscle and not his rips poking through his skin. Maybe he didn’t know how to handle the very obvious tent in Paul’s pants, which he still wore, because he just wanted to lay down and sleep the exhaustion of the battle and the near-death experiences off and not having to do something about Paul’s raging hard-on. Paul grasped his left wrist and his fingers only met his own skin there. Right, he had lost Daryl’s rag.

Then, Daryl very slowly lifted his arms and pushed the poncho off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud. Underneath, Daryl wore even more layers than Paul. The soft light painted everything in dancing shadows, but Paul could see Daryl’s chest rising and falling quickly, like getting rid of the poncho was something equivalent to running a marathon. Paul’s own heart kicked into overdrive, because this time he could actually see Daryl. Not just feel and taste his skin, but watch the muscles twitch in his stomach –

Paul almost jumped when calloused fingers brushed lightly over his side. Daryl froze immediately and Paul wanted to smack himself over the head. Instead, he took a step forward as if pulled into Daryl, so Daryl’s warm, rough hand slipped over his hipbone that jutted out like a sharp stone. His heart stuttered an unhealthy rhythm as Daryl stroked gently over the old bruise at his side, skimming slowly higher and touching every inch of his skin. The caress was so lightly that goosebumps broke out all over Paul’s arms and back.

Paul was so lost in the sensation of Daryl checking him for bites and scratches that he didn’t realize Daryl stepped close enough to lean his forehead against Paul’s. They stood there like this, with Daryl’s warm hands now on his back, sharing the same air and Paul tried to swallow as he glanced up through his lashes at Daryl. His eyes were open and dark and Paul just had to lick his dry lips, before he said: “Wanna check you as well.”

Daryl stared at his mouth, pressing his nose into Paul’s temple as he gave a sharp nod. “Ain’t that pretty.”

“Let me decide on that, alright?”, Paul whispered back. He carefully lifted the first layer, a thick sweater, pulled it over Daryl’s head and tossed it to the side. Next came a thick flannel over another, thinner shirt, then a t-shirt and last something skintight that could be thermal underwear. Paul didn’t care. He pulled it over Daryl’s head slowly as though he was afraid to rip pieces off Daryl if he moved to fast. 

Then he stood and just stared down, because Daryl leaned in close as soon as the garment hit the floor, pressing his forehead into Paul’s temple again. This close and without the offending clothes between them Paul could finally smell Daryl again, the musky, spicy scent that had hit him like a waves crushing over him that first night in bed together.

Daryl’s body had several more angry looking bruises than his own, a few cuts, bound chest and a bandaged bit on his right arm as well. But Paul drank in all the other things he saw. He trailed his fingers from the strong arms over his shoulder and down a hairier, but also more muscled chest than his own. A tattoo curled above Daryl’s heart. _Norman._

“That’s ma grandpa.” Daryl’s husky whisper sent shivers down Paul’s spine.

“How was he?”

“Direct. No beatin’ ‘round the bush, no bullshit. Was bat-shit crazy ‘bout the Revolutionary War. Taught me how to shoot the bow.” Daryl exhaled shakily. “Didn’t give a shit that I wasn’t like my brother.”

Paul swallowed and brushed lower, over hair that already had a dust of silver in it and muscles that were firm and solid under soft skin. “I’m glad he didn’t”, Paul whispered as his hands slid onto Daryl’s back and over the first scars there. He had seen them once, briefly, just a glimpse, but feeling them, imagining, how deep and agonizing the wounds must have been to leave scars like that – Paul wanted to rip someone’s throat out. He glanced up at Daryl, who was stiff and barely breathing in his arms, his eyes wide as if he expected Paul to stumble back in disgust. It was this look in Daryl’s face that broke him. He raised to his tiptoes in a flash, pulling Daryl tight against his chest, and whispered in the air between them: “Come to bed with me.”

Daryl shivered and closed his eyes. He just stood there breathing harshly and Paul started to think that he had been too bold. That the implication was too much and too soon, but he was dying to feel Daryl again. Against him, _under_ him. But he didn’t want to force something on Daryl he didn’t want to do. That had happened already enough times in his life.

Paul did _not_ jump, when he suddenly felt fingers brush against his lower stomach. Daryl’s breathing was loud in his ear, rustling a few strands of his hair, and Paul also did _not_ whimper, when that breath became Daryl’s low, husky voice. 

“I – I haven’t – not like that …”

Paul swallowed thickly. “You want me to?”

“I trust ya.”

Paul couldn’t keep himself in check. He twisted his head and smashed his lips on Daryl’s without any preamble. The fingers in the waistband of his trousers tightened and dug below and Paul let out a hungry moan that would have left him completely mortified, if Daryl wouldn’t kiss him back just as eagerly. 

He didn’t know how they made it to the mattress. Daryl just stumbled and fell and Paul went down with him, catching himself on his forearms. He squirmed while he continued to shove his tongue in Daryl’s mouth, trying to push off his boots without looking, because shoes in bed … no.

Daryl suddenly arched into the kiss and Paul was thrown to the side and then Daryl was on him, pressing him into the mattress and Paul’s mind just went blank. He threw his ankles around Daryl’s waist just in case Daryl decided that this was it and he should leave. But Daryl’s hands were everywhere. He touched Paul’s neck and played with his ear, before turning his head and kissing Paul there instead. Paul huffed, because a jolt of heat surged down to his belly and then directly into his cock. He felt teeth, Daryl’s teeth, at the skin just below his ear and he couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl biting down there. Marking him.

His hands fluttered around uselessly, gripping Daryl’s back, his hair, his shoulders and his arms, until they finally landed on Daryl’s ass and that just felt right. He pressed upwards into Daryl while pushing him down at the same time. The hard outline of Daryl’s cock rubbed right above his own. Paul’s eyes turned upward and the moan that fell out of his mouth was downright embarrassing. Or it would be, if he would actually care. Because Paul apparently didn’t give a shit anymore if he sounded like a needy little whore. He felt hot and tingling and so fucking turned on – 

“Daryl … Daryl, please … I want you … want to feel you inside me … _please_.” 

Dear God, he was babbling. Paul felt his cheeks heat up in mortification at saying his thoughts out loud and tried to hide in Daryl’s neck, praying he hadn’t heard Paul. But Daryl went completely still. _Fuck_. Then the warm pressure above him shifted and was gone. _Fuck fuck fuck. Why, Rovia? Why can’t you keep your fucking mouth closed? You’ve sworn to ask first properly, not like last time when you were already coming all over Daryl’s stomach!_

“Sorry, I-“, he started to whisper, just as Daryl rasped: “Shouldn’t we … have _something_ , dunno …”

Paul’s eyes flew open. Daryl still sat on the mattress, his eyes down on his hands in his lap and he was chewing his lower lip distractingly. “You – you want to?”

Daryl glanced up at him through his lashes and Paul squirmed at the heat there. “Just if ya wanna … I – I wanna see ya naked, Paul.”

Paul swallowed again. Then fumbled with the fucking belt buckle in his haste to shove his pants off. He discarded them along with the damn boots unceremoniously while sitting up, coming right into Daryl’s breathing space, inches from his lips. “You can touch me, if you want.” Daryl’s eyes were dark, pupils blown, and he looked with such intensity at Paul that he needed to say something bullshitty, because otherwise he wouldn’t survive. “Don’t have condoms anyway, so …”, he trailed off with a little shaky laugh.

Daryl didn’t move, just kept his eyes locked with Paul’s. He licked his lips and Paul’s gaze dropped down. Licked them again, and Paul thought he was going to go crazy with want.

“Might’ve some.”

Daryl’s deep, rough voice blended into the loud rush of Paul’s own blood in his ears like it belonged there and he needed a moment to comprehend Daryl’s words. His head snapped up. “What?”

Daryl rose slowly, like it was a real effort to get back on his feet. He walked quickly over to the chair, where Paul had draped the vest over the back, and patted down the pockets inside. When he turned back to Paul there was something in his hand that reflected the light like … like a foil wrapping for condoms.

Paul breathed through the nose harshly to swallow his groan, but his dick betrayed him and honest to God jumped at that sight. He tried to cover himself, so he wouldn’t freak Daryl out any further, but it was too late. Daryl’s gaze was glued to Paul’s crotch and Paul’s own eyes traveled involuntarily down Daryl’s torso to the bulge of his pants.

_Shit. Oh fuck._ Paul swallowed. They really could do this. _Daryl_ wanted to do this. Then something plopped into his mind and he scrambled from the mattress to his discarded pants, patting down his pockets. There it was! Paul fished the little can of fatty lotion the people at the Kingdom made to protect themselves against frostbite out of his pants.

“What’s that for?”

Paul glanced up at Daryl, who slowly came closer. The condoms were still in his hand, but the thumb of the other was between his teeth. “Sorry, ain’t got nothing better for lube.” He slowly sat back on the mattress, but Daryl wasn’t moving. “Hey, we don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to, okay? I’m more than happy to sit here and talk to you. Or cuddle.” Paul smirked a bit. “I really don’t mind. I’m just glad you’re alive. I’m just … just happy to see you again.” Paul felt his eyes sting suddenly and he dropped his gaze. Hell, why was he tearing up now?

Then warmth engulfed him and he leaned back into it with his nose right where the scent of Daryl was strongest. He shivered and his breath hitched suspiciously. Pressing his eyelids together, Paul tried to prevent the worst from happening, but it just was no use. After the first traitorous drop rolled from his lashes onto Daryl’s skin, there was no holding back.

“God, fuck, I’m so sorry, Daryl”, he rasped as Daryl’s warm hands stroked over his back and into his hair, gently tugging it free from the bun.

“Don’t”, murmured Daryl softly. “It’s alright. I’m here. We’re safe.”

Paul inhaled in shudders, pressing himself even closer to Daryl, peppering his neck with kisses. “When you climbed over the wall of Hilltop … and then the Saviors came … and then the biters … I thought, I’d never see you again.”

Daryl shivered underneath him. Warm, calloused hands danced shyly down Paul’s back. “’m here now. Won’t ever go.” Then those hands grabbed him and pulled him onto Daryl’s lap, breaking the trail of kisses Paul’s lips drew on Daryl’s skin. “Losin’ ya would break me, Paul. So don’t ever … please, yeah?”

“No, I won’t, as long as I breathe”, Paul whispered back. He kissed him, long and languid, pressing himself against Daryl’s chest with his throbbing cock trapped between their bodies and Daryl’s still covered in too much textile right under his ass. Daryl sighed into his mouth, pressing his tongue against Paul’s, and his hand wandered from Paul’s neck down his back. The warm callouses sent shivers over Paul’s arms and he pressed himself even closer, licking into Daryl’s mouth. Then these warm fingers brushed lightly between Paul’s cheeks and his jaw went slack. Paul squeezed his eyes shut, clutching Daryl tightly and undoubtedly painfully where his hands just lay. His heart hammered in his chest as Daryl repeated the movement. _God, he wanted … wanted Daryl …_

“Wait”, Paul panted. He gripped Daryl’s shoulder as he quickly leaned over to where he had dropped the lotion. Daryl grunted with the shift in their balance, but held Paul in his lap. The belt buckle bit uncomfortably into Paul’s stomach. He fumbled with one hand to get it open, while he held the lotion in the other like a lifeline. It just wouldn’t budge and Paul let out a frustrated growl. “Get that off, Daryl!”

“Alright, alright”, Daryl huffed, pushing Paul back slightly to get to his pants. Paul watched as Daryl didn’t even take the time to fully open his pants and instead just pushed them down and wiggled them off his body, kicking off his boots along with them, with Paul still kneeling over his crotch. It was the hottest thing Paul had seen in a godawful long while and he nearly choked on his own breath as Daryl’s cock sprang free. 

He wanted to touch it. Touch Daryl. The urge was so intense, Paul swayed on his knees, losing his balance. Daryl caught him around the waist and pulled him down again. He couldn’t resist; Paul wrapped his hand around them both at the same time as Daryl’s lips landed on his, kissing him hungrily. Paul didn’t know anymore, who moaned first or when or why. Blood pounded in his ears and all he could think about was Daryl and his fingers, back on his ass, back down between his cheeks. The rhythm of his hand faltered and he needed to let go to fumble with the tiny can of lotion in his other.

“Shit, wait”, he mumbled into Daryl’s mouth before leaning back slightly to fucking see what his shaking hands were actually doing.

“Sorry”, heaved Daryl, immediately pulling his hands back up.

“Nonono, just – wait, fuck. Okay, give me your hand.” 

Daryl’s eyes were dark and open as he looked at Paul. _I trust ya._ Paul swallowed. His heart was hammering ridiculously fast, as if it wanted to burst from his chest. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done this before. Hell, he had, pretty often in fact right before the turn. But this now, here, with Daryl, after everything. It was different.

Paul entwined his fingers with Daryl’s. He opened his mouth to say … something, he didn’t even know, what. There was just a thousand things running through his head and a million more that weren’t even thoughts and he had no idea how to put them into words at all. But then Daryl cupped his cheek with his free hand, shifted his legs, so Paul slid forward and even closer into Daryl’s embrace, their noses bumping together. 

The air between them seemed to be charged with something hot and heavy that made Paul’s head spin.

“Just tell me, what to do”, rasped Daryl.

Paul swallowed again. Nodded. The tiny can almost fell out of his sweaty hand as he took Daryl’s fingers and dipped them into the lotion. “Would it be … would it be alright for you to touch me, Daryl?”

“Anythin’ ya want, Paul.”

Paul buried his head in Daryl’s hair, as he guided his fingers back down and then inside. A shudder ran through him at the contact and his breath hitched. Squeezing his eyes shut, Paul tried to keep still, not wanting to startle Daryl with sudden movements.

“Paul … ya okay?”

He nodded frantically, nosing behind Daryl’s ear. He wrapped his arms around those strong shoulders, burying his hands in Daryl’s dark, unruly locks.

And then Daryl moved his finger, one time, two times, and then he hit _that_ spot and Paul lost it. He arched his back with a low groan and ground down on Daryl, rubbing their cocks together. Through the haze of the sensation, he heard Daryl hiss, then the finger was gone. Paul blinked and tried not to whine, but Daryl was faster. His mouth was suddenly on Paul’s exposed neck and the tip of his tongue trailed up to his ear, where Daryl bit down, before he whispered in a low husk that sent bolts of want directly to his groin: “God Paul, yer so beautiful.”

Paul opened his eyes and couldn’t say anything in response, because Daryl’s fingers were back, two this time, and they hit that spot again with tormenting accuracy. Fuck, Paul had known Daryl was perceptive, but it had never occurred to him that this meant he would be like this now. It was as if Paul had lost his head somewhere on the way and Daryl was still all cool and collected – 

“Another”, Paul whispered and kissed Daryl. He felt his lips tremble, his mouth and tongue not quite keeping up with Paul’s and he knew that Daryl wasn’t unaffected at all. He was just as far gone. It made Paul smile into their messy kiss.

Three fingers were stretching him and it edged a bit on painful. Paul bit down on Daryl’s lip without thinking, which drew a deep moan from him that vibrated through Paul’s whole body. Daryl couldn’t move much, and still, he unerringly found Paul’s sweet spot again as if bright, blinking arrows guided him.

“Da-Daryl, shit, wanna feel you, wanna … have you inside me …” Paul couldn’t think straight anymore and if Daryl kept his skilled fingers right there, moving them just like that, he wouldn’t last three seconds longer. His groin was already coiled tight with the oncoming release, but Paul wanted this moment to last. Fuck, where was that damn condom? He groped around blindly and thankfully found the little package just beside Daryl’s thigh. He tore his face away from Daryl’s eyes and mouth, concentrating with all his might to open the wrapping and rolling the condom over Daryl’s cock. Daryl inhaled sharply, bending his fingers with a start. Precome leaked down Paul’s shaft and he had to grab Daryl’s wrist to still him, to pull him out. 

“Don’t – don’t wanna come yet. Wanna come with you inside me. Wanna feel you, Daryl.”

“Fuck, _Paul_ , yer goddamn _mouth_.”

“You like it, Daryl?” Paul actually didn’t do dirty talk, but the words had just fallen right out of his mouth. Seeing Daryl like that, wrecked and flushed, it turned Paul on to no end. He pressed a hand on Daryl’s chest, pushing him slowly back onto the mattress. Daryl looked at him with dark eyes and parted lips. “You’re gorgeous like that. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

Daryl’s eyes wandered down to watch Paul gripping his dick, positioning it right against Paul’s hole.

“Daryl?”

“God-fuckin’-dammit, yes, Paul, God, _please, yes!_ ”

Paul’s eyes bored into Daryl’s as he slowly lowered himself. Just feeling how he was stretched and filled pumped him with ecstasy. Paul’s chest heaved as he bit his lip to keep the curse inside, but Daryl threw his head back and gripped Paul’s waist in a vise-like hold. _“Fuck …”_

Paul was trembling. Usually he loved this position, because it left him in control of the pace and the rhythm, but right now he felt so fucking far away from Daryl although they were joined in the most intimate way. Paul leaned forward, pressing his forehead onto Daryl’s chest, right above his hammering heart. He kissed the sweat-glistening skin there, while slowly rolling his hips and one of Daryl’s hands landed in his hair again, bunching it up and pulling at it slightly. Paul followed the tug fervently, feeling flushed and drunk and so fucking _good_. Daryl tasted like salt, smoke and a bit like copper as he peppered his skin with kisses trailing upwards to his neck. The smell of their arousal hung heavy in the air and Paul wanted to drown in it.

Daryl captured his lips again messily, more breathing him in than actual kissing Paul. Daryl’s cock was pressing right into Paul’s prostate and he let out a moan, moving his hips, because he needed more of that, he needed to feel Daryl as much as possible, right there, just faster and more – 

“Shit, no –“, Paul cursed as he felt Daryl slipping out of him. He reached down, but Daryl was already moving. Paul landed on his back in one swift motion with Daryl plastered on top of him. The weight pressed him into the mattress and he grabbed Daryl’s shoulders to keep him right there, as he pushed inside Paul again. The angle was different now and dear God did Daryl know already how to hit that spot.

“Oh, fuck, oh my – yes!” Paul smashed his face in the crook of Daryl’s neck, breathing in his scent. He wrapped his legs around Daryl’s waist, pushing his ass even firmer against Paul with his feet. “Harder, babe, please… _please_ …”

“Don’t wanna hurt ya …”, Daryl rasped into his ear.

“You’re not.”

“Paul. Paul look at me.”

Paul lifted his head. Daryl’s arms were on either side, caging him in and shielding him from all the bad outside. But it was the look of raw, unhidden adoration in Daryl’s eyes that took his breath away. Every emotion, every want and need crushed into him at that look. He wanted Daryl to look at him like that for the rest of his life. He wanted to call him his husband, because it was real and not just some deal. Fuck, he loved that man, didn’t want to miss him one day or see him hurt ever again.

Daryl moved against him in a bit too slow, too sinful rhythm, dragging against that spot and against Paul’s cock between them, taking him apart so, so slowly.

“’m yours, Paul. As long as ya’ll have me.” Daryl looked absolutely wrecked with a flush well past his collarbones and his hair damp from the sweat on his forehead. Paul surged up, catching Daryl’s lips in a heated kiss. He whimpered as Daryl shifted, breaking the kiss only to bite at his jaw as his hands flew to Paul’s hips. The grip was so forceful that Paul knew it would leave bruises, but then every thought was knocked right out of his head as Daryl pounded into him, pushing him up the mattress with every trust. Paul just gripped a fistful of Daryl’s hair, his mouth slack to spill out a litany of groans mixed with Daryl’s name.

And then Daryl bit down on the crook of his neck with a guttural moan and that was it for Paul. He came arching his back and for a moment he couldn’t even see.

Daryl was a dead weight on top of him, but Paul didn’t care. Instead, he carefully disentangled his fingers from Daryl’s hair, to brush the unruly locks and stroke further down his back over over-heated, uneven skin. They both panted, but other than that, they didn’t move. Paul could have lain like this forever.

“Ya meant that?”, Daryl eventually mumbled somewhere below Paul’s beard.

“Hm?” Paul blinked his eyes open again.

“What you said. ‘bout making it real.”

Paul furrowed his brows. Daryl didn’t make any sense. What did he say? Making what real? Daryl squirmed and eventually got up from his chest, carefully easing out of Paul without looking at him. Paul had the urgent feeling that he was missing a very big and very important thing here and that his silence was making everything worse with every second ticking by.

Then it hit him.

“I said that _loud_?” Heat exploded in his face like fucking fireworks. Daryl still had his body mostly turned away from him as he dumped the used condom unceremoniously beside the mattress. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable –“

Daryl’s head snapped up and he threw a glance Paul couldn’t quite read at him. “Did ya mean it?”

The heat turned Paul’s face into a furnace, but he didn’t look away from Daryl’s boring eyes. “Yes.”

Slowly, the most brilliant smile broke out over Daryl’s face, making him look younger, almost boyish and sassy. “Yeah?”

Paul felt the matching grin on his own lips. “Yeah.”

Daryl cupped the back of his neck and pressed their mouths together, kissing him languidly. “Meant it, too”, he whispered in between. “I’m yours, Paul.”

Warmth burst in his chest that crawled down to his toes, made him giddy and drunk, and grinning stupidly into their kiss. Paul rolled them around and pressed Daryl into the mattress, biting playfully at Daryl’s bottom lip. “Does that mean we’re doing this more often, then?”

“Dunno what ya mean”, Daryl said with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes that Paul had never seen before.

“No? Really now, Daryl?” Paul bit down harder, making Daryl gasp.

“Called me _babe_ , do ya remember that, ya prick?”

“Oh God!” Paul buried his head into Daryl’s shoulder. “Really? God, that was–“

“Hot? Yeah”, breathed Daryl.

Paul turned his head, locking eyes with Daryl. He pushed some of Paul’s hair behind his ears, then tugged him close to kiss his forehead. Paul smiled into the short hair of Daryl’s scruff, kissing the beauty mark there. They lay there, just holding each other, basking in the closeness and warmth. At some point Daryl pulled up the blankets that got kicked to the foot of the mattress, wrapping them both in a cocoon. Paul was already drifting into a dreamless sleep, worn out by the days of anxiety and worry and the absolutely amazing sex with his _husband._ Just in this moment, everything felt right and nothing impossible.

“Do we tell the others?”, he mumbled with heavy eyes.

“Not yet”, replied Daryl drowsily. “Let me have a couple of peaceful days first.”

Paul’s insides suddenly fluttered and curled and the most stupid smile broke over his face. It was all he seemed to be able to do. He leaned up and kissed Daryl’s swollen lips again softly. “We should probably sleep now. Tomorrow’s gonna be hard.”

Daryl nodded, then leaned over to the light and blew out the flame. Paul snuggled deeper under the covers, one leg thrown over Daryl’s with his head against his chest. “Goodnight, Daryl”, he whispered.

“Night, Paul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so hard to write. Re-wrote the whole chapter just to notice that the first version was better than the second. I tried to keep it real, because honestly? First time with someone new is going to be awkward, since you don't know the other just yet. Beautifully awkward of course :)


	22. Epilogue: Into that good night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am amazed, a little bit sad, but also very proud that I finished this story! So far, the longest fic I've ever written - and finished! Thank you all for the kudos and comments! It was really nice to read every single one and know that other people enjoyed the story I've spun.
> 
> This last part is for you!
> 
> Warning: nosy and oblivious family members and some fluff.

Carl pushed Judith into the arms of a startled looking Eric as he spotted him talking with that priest of Alexandria, Father Gabe or something. “Can you take her for a sec? I need to find Daryl.”

“I – what? Sure, but, Carl –“

“Be right back!”, he shouted over his shoulder, already jogging down the street. Daryl just had come back from a hunt and Carl needed to get a hold of him before his Dad again found him chores to do.

People were busy with preparing their little feast, exited chatter and laughter filling the air. Alexandria still looked wrecked, but the place was cleaned up as much as possible, the houses secured and the walls fixed-up. They would start rebuilding when the snow melted and the days got longer, but for now, the most important thing was to survive the winter. They had divided the Sanctuary’s storage among the Kingdom, Oceanside and Alexandria, so that wasn’t looking too bad now. Hilltop, unfortunately, was burnt to the ground. They would start the rebuilding there as well, but everyone knew it would take a lot of time to replace the trailers, walls, sheds and storage rooms there. They had to start at square one.

Carl dashed down the street, jumping out of the way of people carrying furniture to their little market place in the middle of the community, where some others already decorated with pine twigs, red drapes and other stuff that somehow gave of a Christmas-y feeling. Daryl just exited the house where the food for the party was prepared, trotting already over to where his Dad was discussing something with Spencer, the youngest of Deanna’s sons. Neither Deanna nor her eldest son had survived the attack of the Saviors, leaving Spencer in charge, although in all honesty, it was his Dad making the decisions here.

Shit. “Hey, Daryl!”, he called out, sprinting over.

Daryl turned and thankfully stopped. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Do you have a minute?”

Daryl threw a glance over his shoulder to Rick. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great, ahm …” Carl slithered to a halt on the muddy snow and cleared his throat. “Do you … do you still have the condoms I gave you? You know, safe-keeping them so my Dad wouldn’t find them?”

Daryl narrowed his eyes, regarding him silently. Finally, he said: “Nah, I don’t.”

“Are you serious? What, did you lose them?” Carl hated how his voice jumped from that deeper gravel to a higher octave, almost like a whine. He knew the chances had been slim that Daryl still carried those two condoms around he had given him on a hot summer day before the Saviors; before the war. Still. Daryl had been his hope here. “Stop messing with me, Daryl. You still have them, don’t you?”

Much to his surprise, Daryl hissed with a sudden redness to his face: “Nah, I don’t!”

“But why -?”

“That’s none of yer goddamn business!” Daryl turned his head around as if to check that no one else was close and listening. 

“Oh my God, you used them?!” Okay, this was gross. Carl didn’t want to know what exactly Daryl did with them. Hopefully just used them as some sort of tool to repair something or just anything like that.

Snow crunched behind Carl and Jesus trudged by, flashing a smile at Daryl, then walking briskly over and into the infirmary. Daryl’s eyes followed him and stayed glued to his back until Jesus vanished inside. Carl gaped. “You used them to _bang Jesus_?! What the fuck, Daryl!”

Daryl was in his face in a heartbeat. Carl wouldn’t even be intimidated if Daryl wouldn’t sport an unhealthy looking face color right now. “Watch yer fuckin’ language!”

Carl scoffed and rolled his eyes, stepping back. Great, really great. Daryl had really used them. Now he had to get this condom from someone else, preferably someone that wouldn’t run to his Dad and tell him about it. He threw Daryl a dark glance as he already retreated, not giving a shit about the scolding. “You two can’t even get pregnant!”

“That’s not even the point, ya brat! Hey!”

But Carl already turned around, waving dismissively behind him. If you couldn’t even count on Daryl anymore … Huffing, he went over to the only other person he was certain he could successfully coax into complying without questions.

+++

Maggie was sorting clothes and blankets in one of the intact houses of Alexandria, when Glenn came in. One look in his face and Maggie knew something was up. Her husband had the worst poker face ever.

“What’s wrong?”

Glenn shuffled his feet, picking up the little hat Aaron had knitted for their baby. The stiches were uneven and the little pompons looked more like knots, but Maggie couldn’t wait to put it on their little one. “Hm? Oh, nothing, all’s good. Everyone’s fine.”

Maggie put down the freshly washed sweaters and got up. She was now three months pregnant and unfortunately everyone agreed that she wasn’t about to help with the rebuilding of Alexandria. Instead they put her inside houses and kitchens – at least they tried. But being just as stubborn as the rest of her family she still meddled with every problem and issue, trying to make sure the peace would last and the Saviors, who had surrendered, followed the rules.

“Okay, so what is it?” She crossed her arms and gave her husband a stern look. 

Glenn stared back and Maggie could see the exact moment he capitulated. “Carl came to me, okay?”

Maggie tried not to smirk triumphantly. “Okay, so?”

“He – he,” stammered Glenn, mussing up his hair, then he stepped closer to Maggie, as if somebody could overhear them in the empty living room. “He asked me if I had any condoms left.”

Maggie dropped her arms with a startled laugh. “What?”

“Yeah, he came to me, looking really pissed. So I asked, what’s bugging him, but he wouldn’t tell me, so I gave him some, under the condition that he tells me, alright?”

“You gave Carl condoms?”, Maggie asked incredulously. “You know if Rick ever gonna finds out, you’re a dead man. And he will find out.”

Glenn squirmed. “God, I know, Maggie! But better he asks openly than not at all.”

“True. So, what was it? Was it worth risking Rick’s eternal wrath?” Maggie could practically taste something big Glenn was about to spill. He really had the shittiest poker face on Earth. But what truly got her hooked was the slightly embarrassed expression on his face.

“Carl’s pissed at Daryl.”

“Daryl? Why on Earth –“

“Apparently Carl had some condoms before and gave them to Daryl for safe-keeping.”

Maggie blinked. “What?” There were at least three things wrong with the sentence that had just spilled hastily over Glenn’s lips.

Glenn barreled on as though he had to get rid of the gossip that was dropped on him. “I know! But apparently Daryl didn’t have them anymore and Carl had asked how he could have lost them and then …”, Glenn scooted even closer, hissing under his breath, “then Daryl said he hadn’t lost them. He had _used_ them! Maggie! I mean, when did Daryl ever had time for that or … or when did he ever seemed even slightly interested in – what? What are you laughing about?”

Maggie shook her head, trying to reign the chuckles in. 

“Oh my God.” Glenn gaped at her. “You _knew_?!”

Maggie shrugged and patted Glenn on the arm, trying to soothe the mild look of hurt on his face. “Sorry”, she laughed. “Walked in on them by accident.”

“You what? When?”

“Still at Hilltop.”

“Hilltop?” Glenn stared at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “But-but _who_ -?”

“Sorry, not my place to tell!” Maggie raised her hands, grinning at Glenn, who pouted.

“But, Maggie! You’re my wife! You have to tell me things like that!”

Maggie grinned, grabbing a pile of blankets. She swiveled around, planting a peck on Glenn’s cheek, and whispered: “Just have a little _faith_. Daryl apparently did.” With that, she walked on light feet out of the house and over to the infirmary with a broad grin, ignoring Glenn’s yell of “What – but… Maggie! What’s that supposed to – _Jesus?!_ ”

+++

Rosita scanned the back of the book in her hands Jesus had just dropped off, claiming she might like it. She wasn’t so sure, though. Something about pirates and treasures. She put it down with a sigh. Well, it was a nice gesture anyway.

“So, what else is new?” She glanced up at Tara and Sasha, who lounged beside her hospital bed. 

“Guess not much. I think Enid and Carl are hooking up anytime soon”, said Tara, plopping a piece of apple into her mouth.

“Rick will be broken”, chuckled Sasha.

The door opened and Maggie came in with a pile of freshly washed blankets. “What will break Rick?” She dropped the blankets on an empty chair and came over.

“Carl and Enid hooking up”, answered Rosita, stealing the apple out of Tara’s hand. Maggie’s eyebrows rose and a grin crept on her face. Rosita sat up straighter, wincing a bit as her stiches stretched too much. 

“Okay,” said Sasha leaning forward as well. “What is this grin about? Spill!”

Maggie sat down on the corner of Rosita’s bed, leaning in conspiratorially. “Carl just asked Glenn for some condoms.”

“No way! Oh, Rick’s gonna kill him!”, snickered Tara.

“Well, that’s not everything”, Maggie grinned. She threw Sasha a meaningful glance. “I’m not going to rat, but remember our bet at my wedding?”

Sasha scrunched up her face, before it lit up again. “What? About Jesus and -?”

“What? What? Don’t be so goddamn secretive!” Tara glanced between Sasha and Maggie.

“Oh my …”, Sasha grinned at Maggie, then turned around to Tara and Rosita. “Maggie betted that it wouldn’t take Daryl and Jesus more than a year to fall for each other. Beth said three months. I said no way Daryl’s ever gonna let Jesus closer than he could shoot him in the head.”

“Wait – Daryl? _Our_ Daryl?”, asked Rosita with a crooked eyebrow.

“Oh, haven’t you seen Jesus mooning over him?”, quipped Tara. “Spill! Don’t let us hang with what we already know!”

Rosita still stared offended at Tara. “Why didn’t you tell me? When did that even happen? How would you even know he swings that way?”

“It’s called gaydar, my dear”, said Tara with a mouth full of apple, patting Rosita’s arm. “So what? They’re dating?”

“Don’t tell me your _gaydar_ picked up on Daryl’s brooding and declared it some sort of lone desperation for the right guy!”, scoffed Rosita, rolling her eyes. “You did _not_ know, you just hoped as soon as they got fake-married!”

“That’s not important!”, protested Tara. “Daryl lives like a monk the whole time and that’s just for as long as I know him. Everyone has a breaking point. Daryl’s obviously has blue eyes and can kick your teeth in without breaking a sweat. They _are_ dating, aren’t they? Or are they still dancing around each other?”

Maggie bit her lip, clearly struggling with herself, whether she should tell more. “Well, all I’m saying is _Carl_ was certain they’re doing a lot more than just dating.”

“No way!”

“Yes! I knew it!”

“Carl!? Do I wanna even know?”

+++

Michonne hoisted Judith further up on her hip, as she walked into the kitchen, where the preparations for the party were in full swing. Carol was here as well, stirring in a large pot of stew.

“Hey, do you have a little snack for Judy? Eric was a bit overwhelmed by her fussing,” Michonne grinned.

Carol chuckled and quickly chopped a piece of carrot off. “Here you go, young lady.”

Judith was happily munching on her carrot, as Tara came bustling in, dumping a large pumpkin on the countertop. She heaved, but fixed them with an intense glare. “You’ll never guess.”

Michonne bounced Judith around, while Carol put the spoon next to the giant pot of stew, leaning against the countertop with one hand on her hip. 

“And what would that be?”, asked Michonne, raising one eyebrow. Tara looked like she had an early Christmas and that was either worrying, because she had a very excellent idea like going out on a run for Christmas sweaters again, or cute, because she finally had asked Denise to go to their Christmas party as her date.

“Daryl –“

“No.” Carlo grabbed a knife and pulled the pumpkin towards her with determination.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“It means I don’t wanna even know how that sentence ends. It’ll just get you in trouble and I don’t wanna know about that.”

“What – but Carol! It could be that he’s hurt and you wouldn’t know about it!”

Carol gave her a sharp look. “No, he isn’t hurt. Your eyes wouldn’t sparkle like thousand raindrops in the sun if he were.”

“My eyes –“, gaped Tara. Then she turned around to Michonne. “Do my eyes sparkle?”

Judith giggled into Michonne’s shoulder. “Darry sparkle.”

Michonne glanced down at her daughter with raised eyebrows. Judith still had trouble saying Daryl’s name, much to Daryl’s dismay, since all the kids started calling him that now. 

Tara huffed: “Oh great, she does know it, too?”

“Know what?” Michonne glanced up to Carol, but she was busy splitting the pumpkin in half. “What is even going on?”

Ignoring Carol’s warning glare, Tara stepped closer and whispered: “Daryl and Jesus –“

“Tara, why don’t you help me with this?” asked Carol loudly, pointing with a knife at Tara. 

Michonne ignored their bickering as a chewed-on carrot was pushed into her face. Judith grinned up at her, her little teeth digging into her lip, giving her little face a much too smug expression. “Darry!”

“Yeah, Tara was talking about Uncle Daryl,” Michonne smiled softly.

“Darry sparkle! Jesus sparkle, too!”

Michonne frowned. Sometimes it was just silly nonsense Judith babbled and maybe sparkle was her favorite word of the week. She let Tara and Carol with the stew and the pumpkin behind, walking over to their house. Carol hadn’t seemed bothered with whatever Tara had found out, but it was strange nevertheless. Maybe Rick would know something.

“Sparkle!”, Judith giggled in her arms.

“Yeah, sweetie, sparkle.”

“Also sparkle!” Her little gloved fist thrusted out and pointed shamelessly at a couple kissing under a freshly mounted mistletoe above their heads.

“What? No, Judy, they’re kissing, not sparkling”, she chuckled.

Big eyes glanced up to her. “Kiss?”, Judith asked unsure. Michonne would never get tired of children sounding so doubtful about some things an adult would tell them.

“Yeah, kissing!” She quickly leaned down, kissing the top of Judith’s little hat. “Me kissing you. See?”

Judith giggled. “Daddy kissing.”

“Yeah, Daddy kisses you, too.”

“No! Kissing!” Judith pointed with a cheeky grin to Michonne’s chest.

“Yeah, your Dad kisses me, too!”, she laughed.

“Daddy an’ Mom kissing! Maggie an’ Glenn kissing! Aaron an’ Eric kissing!”

“Yeah, honey, that’s right,” smiled Michonne at the enthusiasm of her daughter having learnt something new. 

“Bertie an’ Earl kissing! Darry an’ Jesus kissing!”

She just opened her mouth to correct her daughter, who babbled on about just any couple she knew of kissing, but Michonne didn’t say a word. Judith was right every single time she announced someone kissing someone else, although they weren’t around. She had understood what it meant to kiss. So why would she get confused about Daryl and Jesus? Unless … Michonne’s mouth still formed an O, but now because she couldn’t believe it. Tara had wanted to tell them that Daryl and Jesus were – what? Together?

She looked down at Judith’s knobbly woolen hat. She still rambled on about various people kissing. When had she seen that kiss between Daryl and Jesus? They all were just so busy lately that they barely had time for each other. But that was why they were preparing that Christmas-victory-feast, to come together again and be around each other.

“Oh my”, she murmured suddenly. Rick had taken Judith over to Daryl one day, because she was fussing, Carl and her weren’t there and Eugene had wanted to discuss something that could absolutely not wait. She only remembered, because Rick had leapt up from a kitchen chair in the evening, where he just had sat down groaning, declaring that he had forgotten to get Judith from Daryl. Michonne had pushed him back down on the chair and had gone herself. On the way over to Aaron and Eric’s house, where Daryl occupied the attic, Jesus had come out of the door, a tense look on his face. And Michonne hadn’t thought of anything when she had knocked and the door flew open instantly to reveal Daryl, who had looked just as surprised to see her. 

He hadn’t been expecting Michonne. He had been expecting Jesus to come back.

A smile just as cheeky as Judith’s spread over her lips as she slowly made her way over to their house. Who knew? Well, Judith, apparently.

+++

Rick eyed the shirt on his bed skeptically. “Do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, no one is going to see it anyway.”

Michonne sauntered over from the bathroom. “But I do. Afterwards. Back at home.”

Rick’s cheeks turned a shade of red as he watched his girlfriend choosing her own clothes. The muscles in her back and shoulders rippled under her dark skin and again Rick wasn’t sure how he got so lucky.

“Fine, if you insist,” he grinned.

“Oh, I do insist.” She came over, kissing him and walking back into the bathroom to do God knew what it was women did in there all the time.

Shaking his head with a smirk, Rick put on the nicer, clean pants and the new shirt, before heading down to their living room. Carl stood before the hallway mirror, fussing with his hair.

“If you want any help with that – Michonne’s upstairs!”

“Ha ha, Dad, very funny,” grumbled Carl and instantly dropped his hand.

Rick crouched down in front of his daughter, where she played with colorful little cubes, trying to build a tower. “Hey, that looks amazing!”

She glanced up and laughed, throwing a blue cube at him that she probably wanted to give him so he could play with her, but she underestimated her own strength and the toy hit him at the temple. “Ow, Judy, don’t throw your stuff. You give it to people, remember?”

A knock at their door interrupted his lecture, and Rick sighed. “I’m going, Dad!”, Carl yelled before Rick could get off the ground. He could hear the door being ripped open and then a disappointed “Oh, it’s just you” from Carl. Rick tried to smother his grin. The boy might think he was subtle, but he should know better, having a former cop as a Dad and all that.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” came Daryl’s voice, followed by his heavy footsteps as he came in.

“Hey, Daryl,” Rick greeted him with a quick glance and suppressed laughter, giving Judith her blue cube back so she could put it on top of the wobbly looking tower.

“Hey, man.”

Rick did a double take as Daryl stopped in the doorframe, not really caring that the tower crumbled as Judith spun around as well. “Darry!” She flung herself at Daryl, who picked her up easily. 

“Hey Lil’ Asskicker. Ya look real nice.” Daryl plucked at the hem of her thick red dress.

“Darry sparkle!”

Rick had no idea where Judith had learnt that word today, but he couldn’t deny that his daughter was right. Daryl did sparkle. Well, not really, but he looked … content. Relaxed. Happy. A look he hadn’t seen on his brother in a long while. Not to mention that Daryl seemed to have showered, trimmed his beard and put on nice clothes. The pants weren’t bagging around his knees or ripped. He wore a poncho again, but this one actually suited him with its black and grey hues and the soft looking material, where some snowflakes melted. Underneath he wore a thick black shirt and fingerless gloves, nothing fancy, but for Daryl it was like he wore a suit. There wasn’t one stain or tear in his outfit.

“Yer alright? Rick?”

Rick shook his head. “Sorry. Was trying to understand the sparkly-ness of you.”

“Pft. Bite me. Yer ready?”

“Let me just get my thigh-high boots and we’re good to go!” Michonne called as she came down the stairs, grinning at them. She wore black thighs and a long, soft looking grey shirt, completed with a scarf in red. “Hey, Daryl.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Rick,” smiled Michonne, just as Carl moaned: “Ow, Da-ad!”

Daryl gave her a nod as Rick and his family donned their jackets and coats, draping a little coat over Judith as well. They were good to go and Carl stormed out into the snow followed by Daryl still carrying Judith, who now tugged at his cheek to pull him closer and plant a kiss on it. “Kiss!”, she yelled happily.

“Oh, that’s going to be interesting,” said Michonne in a low voice, linking her arm with Rick’s. 

“What, why? You know that Daryl can handle her even if she dumps finger paint, tea parties with fairies and mud cakes on his head,” Rick laughed.

“Oh, I’m not worried about Judith making pretty eyes at Daryl and him not knowing how to handle that storm. I’m just looking forward what she’s gonna tell everyone, when she spots Jesus.”

Rick gave her a confused look. “What do you mean? Has Jesus done something?”

She patted his arm, smirking. “No, not like that. Have you ever seen Daryl looking that dressed up?”

Rick tried to follow the conversation, but was still stuck with what Jesus probably could have done that Judith would get excited about to tell everyone. “Uhm, no, I don’t think so.”

“Pretty odd, don’t you think?”

Okay, something was going on here. “Yeah, but we’re going to celebrate Christmas. As you told me, people do dress up for that occasion.”

“Yes, people. Does Daryl strike you as the type, who really cares what others think about him, Officer?”, teased Michonne.

Yes, something was definitely up and Rick felt kind of stupid and lost for not seeing it. “No …”

“So, maybe, he didn’t dress up to impress people, but a certain someone?”

Rick almost stopped dead in his tracks. “Daryl is _dating_ someone?”

Michonne laughed. “Oh, and I thought I had to spell it out for you! Very good, Officer!”

“How do you know? I mean, that’s great! Really!”

“Daryl hasn’t told me, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ve heard it from Tara, kind of. But you know nothing, alright? I have the feeling that Daryl wants tell us himself.”

Rick still blinked at Daryl, who pointed out all the decorations for Judith, carrying her over to the pine tree that stood in the middle of everything, decorated with apples and ribbons and some little candy they had found in the Savior’s storage. She listened enrapt as Daryl pointed to the tip, where a star-shaped lantern hung. A woman came over, carrying a little child on her hip as well. They greeted each other and talked a bit. 

“Oh,” made Rick and he wanted to laugh. Of course. He had almost forgotten about Maria and Matteo.

+++

The party was a huge success as far as Rick was concerned. Rick, Ezekiel, Cynthia and Maggie as the leaders of each community had signed a peace and trade treaty as a sign that their communities would work and fight together, if necessary, cementing the support and trust into each other. They also already found volunteers willing to help with the reconstruction of Hilltop. Many wanted to make it their home again. Rick was a bit surprised that Daryl had raised his hand as well, but so did Sasha and since Maggie was the new unofficial leader of Hilltop, their family wouldn’t be spilt up entirely. 

They were sitting around one of the many bonfires, enjoying the food and drink, just their family. It was a bit melancholic. The absence of Abe and Beth was like a slap in to the face, but others had joined their family now and Rick wouldn’t want to miss them. Carl was huddled close to Enid, who for once didn’t pay him much mind and laughed along with Maggie and Rosita. Rosita had protested the armload of blankets her doctor Denise wanted to wrap her in, but it had been no use. She looked comfy, though, grinning around her cup of mulled wine. Glenn and Eugene had their heads together and Tara laughed at something Aaron told with his arm around Eric. Judith had wandered during the evening from one lap to the next. Currently, she was tugging at Jesus’ beard, with a smirking Michonne and a smug looking Carol next to him.

“Where’s your brother?”, Rick asked Daryl, dipping some bread in his stew.

“On watch.” Daryl fiddled with his sleeve, then scratched his neck.

“You know, you can invite her over,” Rick said as casually as possible.

Daryl’s head snapped up. “What?”

Rick shrugged. “You know, this isn’t an exclusive circle or something. If you want to invite someone new in, go ahead.” He smiled encouragingly at Daryl, who stared back startled. Rick decided to take pity on his brother. “Look, I know that you and Maria are seeing each other. That’s great, Daryl! I’m really happy for you, if that’s what you’re worrying about!”

Daryl furrowed his brows. “Who does tell such shit, man?”

Rick stared dumbfounded back. Daryl didn’t appear to be denying out of embarrassment. He seemed genuinely taken aback. “Uhm … I’ve seen you and her talk over at the tree.”

Daryl scoffed and looked away. “I talk to a lot of people. Does that mean, I’m interested like that in all of them?”

“Well, no, of course not.” Rick chewed the bread slowly, trying to understand where he had gone wrong. Michonne had practically told him just an hour ago that Daryl was having a date and it had to be true with all the fiddling and shuffling Daryl had done instead of eating. But he hadn’t said one word or shown up with his date by his side yet. 

Oh. 

“You’re not together yet, aren’t you? You were gonna ask her out tonight?” Rick grinned, giving Daryl a playful nudge. “Go for it, brother. I mean it; I’m happy for you anyway. Maria’s a nice lady.”

“Fuck, Rick, I ain’t interested in Maria!”

Daryl’s sudden outburst silenced the other conversations around their fire effectively. Everyone stared at him and before Rick could apologize, Judith pointed from Jesus’ lap at him, declaring loudly: “Darry! Darry kissing Jesus!”

Time seemed to freeze for a moment, before Daryl hung his head in defeat and muttered: “Fuckin’ Christ.”

That was the signal for their whole family erupting at once. Rick couldn’t even discern the shouts, but it ranged from “Yes!” to “Fucking kidding!” to “So that’s true?” among a lot of whistling. Michonne took Judith from Jesus, who looked a bit spooked, but Tara already pushed him with a big grin from his seat.

Rick threw a glance over at Daryl, sure that his brother was already out of his seat as well, but in the other direction, away from them and somewhere quiet with less staring. But Daryl still sat there, tapping his fingers against his leg, watching Rick with uncertain eyes. 

“Still happy?”, he asked quietly like he dreaded the answer.

Rick’s gaze snapped quickly back to Jesus, who was pushed over to the fire by Tara, trying to calm her excitement with urgent hisses and placating hands. But it was a fight against windmills. Once Tara rolled, there was hardly anything stopping her. “Come on, go over to your man!”, she urged happily like Daryl was Tara’s personal Christmas gift for Jesus.

“He makes you happy?”, he asked back, not paying Tara and her fan-girling much mind.

Daryl nodded. A slow smile appeared on his face and Rick wasn’t even sure Daryl knew it was there.

“Well, of course I’m happy!” Rick grinned. Fuck, if that man made his brother smile like that, he didn’t care if he had three heads and tentacles instead of arms. He was about to pull Daryl into a one-armed hug, but Daryl was faster. He got up to his feet and took two steps towards Jesus, who still struggled with Tara. Jesus opened his mouth as Daryl stood right in front of him, but Daryl grabbed Jesus’ hands, pulled him towards his chest and kissed him on the mouth without hesitation. Jesus blinked surprised for a moment, but then melted against Daryl, kissing him back with a stupid grin on his face.

This time, Rick put his fingers in his mouth as well and whistled, grinning broadly at Michonne, who smiled but mouthed “Maria?!” at him. Oh shit, he wouldn’t hear the end of that for a long time.

+++

_One year and seven months later:_

Daryl glanced up at the gate of Hilltop. The sun beat down on him just like it had almost two years ago, when he and his family had stumbled upon this settlement at their lowest, closer to death than to life. But now, Hilltop wasn’t a strange community. The walls were charred and black, but re-enforced with layers of tar and metal plates from both sides. The gate was a spiked monstrosity of thick steel beams. It didn’t look at all like it had once before and Daryl wasn’t so sure he would have set foot inside this unwelcoming fort then.

Hilltop stood stronger than ever with the gardens expanding around the walls and the people on watch with both rifles and bows slung over their shoulders. Inside, the FEMA trailers had been replaced with wooden cabins housing entire families. The house itself still stood in the middle, still strong and strange. Several hands had scrubbed away the soot and grime, so the house shone bright red in the sun again.

“Home at last.”

Daryl glanced over his shoulder. Paul looked just as ragged and tired as he himself must look, but a smile tugged at his lips.

“That’s it?” The girl with the bushy, long hair and the tattoos down her throat asked skeptically. “Doesn’t look very inviting.”

“Yeah, if it would, place would be flooding with obnoxious people like ya”, Daryl shot back. Christ, the girl didn’t need come with them if she was so picky. Daryl could hear laughter and cheers well up from inside and now had the fucking proof that they had missed it.

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me”, the other one, the tall girl with the combat bow said, clapping a hand down on Bushy-Hair’s shoulder. Yumiko. Daryl liked her. She could shoot well and was pragmatic. 

Paul and him had practically stumbled upon their little group, rescuing them from a herd. They were on the move since the beginning with bad experiences in some communities and therefore a little edgy. Daryl was certain that if it weren’t for the guy of their group sporting a nasty wound on his leg, they wouldn’t have bothered following him and Paul back to Hilltop.

The girl with the dark skin and huge brown eyes signed something, while her sister translated: “Connie says we should give it a try. I’m in as well.”

Bushy-Hair, Magna, sighed and threw a glance at the only man in their group. Luke was lying on the little handcart they had found, on top of a stack of cans and bags full of seeds, groaning. “I would highly appreciate it if I could at least get off this uncomfortable thing!”

“Come on”, said Paul quietly, tugging at Daryl’s elbow. “I wanna shower.”

Daryl whistled loudly and a head plopped over the watchtower. “Yo, Ed, open the gate!”

Ed eyed the strangers behind them.

“C’mon, Ed, stop that bullshit. They’re with us. With _me._ Don’t tell me you’re gonna question the decisions of the Number Two in here?”, Paul shouted.

Daryl snorted as Ed yelled something back, signing for the gate to be opened. “Number Two. What happened to all that Jesus bullshit?”

“Don’t start question my authority as well, Mr. Dixon. Punishment will follow such offence,” Paul grinned cheekily. He walked inside, leaving Daryl to follow him with red cheeks.

One and a half years. Over nineteen months now and still Daryl got all flustered when Paul looked at him like that. With the promise of rough, sweaty sex in his blue-green eyes and lazy kisses afterwards. 

Daryl hitched the strap of his crossbow higher on his shoulder and followed the others, as they stepped through the gate. The little group of vagabonds stared with open awe at their surroundings and Daryl felt a pang of pride at that sight. They had built this from nothing. The old Hilltop had burnt to the ground, only the brick house was strong enough to withstand the fire. They had taken the chance to restructure the whole place. The stables and the fields were now located on the front, while the house was surrounded by new cabins, a new forge, barns and Eugene’s pride and joy: a wastewater treatment plant powered by a solar system.

The way leading up to Barrington House, though, was still the same, cutting through the fields like a goddamn boulevard towards a castle. Today, it was blocked, though. Several pavilions with flowers, tables loaded with food, chairs, stools and blankets with laughing people stood in their way. It was the first full moon of July and after just two years, it had become tradition for the people in Hilltop and sometimes of the other communities as well to held their weddings and blessings for their children on that date.

The ceremony was almost over, because Daryl could see Julia clutching her closed bible in both hands, chatting with people close by while Rick and Michonne were showered in hugs and kisses from his family. Daryl knew they had waited for Paul and him to come back from their run, but since they weren’t just a few hours late, but almost four days, well … Being the leaders of Alexandria now, they couldn’t stay away forever.

“We have missed it,” Paul said quietly at his side. “I’m really sorry, Daryl. I know you had wanted to be there and see it happen.”

“Don’t be. ‘s not yer fault.” Daryl chewed his lip as someone came over, talking to Paul and their guests. Daryl ignored them. Watching Rick tying the knot with Michonne hadn’t been the main reason he had wanted to come back on time. He had pondered how to do this, how to break this to Paul, but he still was pretty clueless about the whole ordeal. 

“Does anybody else want to step up today?”, Julia asked over the laughter of Daryl’s family. The party still hadn’t noticed them at their back, for which Daryl was absurdly thankful. 

“Wanna hug them while you still smell like you have rolled around in biters or wanna have a shower with me first?” Paul grinned at him.

Now or never. Dixons weren’t pussies after all.

“Neither. Wanna do somethin’ else first.” Daryl reached over to grasp Paul’s hand and entwined their fingers.

Paul stared at him in confusion.

“Do you wanna?”, Daryl asked, nodding over to Julia.

Paul’s mouth fell open. “Do you – _now_?”

“Don’t wanna wait another year. I mean, if ya wanna, that’s alright. Just thought it would be, dunno, right to do it this way. I mean, we could –“

“Yes! Hell yes!” Paul’s smile was blinding and it took Daryl a bit to grasp the meaning of his words.

“So, yeah?”, he croaked out.

“Totally yeah!”

Daryl grinned. The smile almost hurt his face, but he tugged Paul forward between the rows of people clapping them on the back and calling after them that it was good to see them back. Rick and Michonne turned around, hugging them tightly as Daryl whispered his congratulations and apology into their ears that they didn’t make it on time.

“It’s alright, brother. You’re here now. Come on, have a seat, I guess the important part starts now!” Rick grinned, already making space for them on a bench close to a table loaded with delicious smelling food.

But Daryl shook his head and stepped back. His hand found Paul’s again and they walked further down the path towards Julia, who eyed them with a warm smile.

It took a moment for everyone to realize what they were up to. Then from somewhere came Tara’s shout: “Yes, Dixon! Get him!”

“Daryl!”, Rick shouted. “How dare you didn’t say anything!”

Then there was bustling and footsteps behind them and suddenly Rick was at his side and Maggie with little Hershel strapped to her front on Paul’s, grinning like maniacs. 

“You’re not going to do this without us!”, Maggie said, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

“No”, grinned Daryl back, “yer impossible to get rid of.”

+++

After the ceremony, when the sun had set and all the lights were lit, Daryl finally managed to escape his family and their hugs and kisses long enough to draw in a breath and let this whole crazy day sink in.

He had married Paul. 

Daryl Dixon, a crude redneck from Georgia, had married a guy, who called himself Jesus.

This was so fucked up that never in his wildest dreams he would have come up with something like that. Even more so, since his husband was a badass fighter with moves that would envy every action hero, eyes like the sky, a smile brighter than the sun and a loyal, wicked heart that somehow had Daryl’s name written all over it.

“Hey, little brother.”

Daryl tore his eyes away from the moonlit sky. “Hey.”

Merle came over, two cups in his hand. He handed one over to Daryl, clinking them together in a silent toast. Daryl nipped at Anton’s famous apple cider.

“So, ya really did it. Married that guy.”

Daryl eyed Merle, before giving a sharp nod. After their victory over the Saviors and Paul’s and his coming-out-as-a-couple-thing at the Christmas party, Daryl and Merle had butted heads more often than not. Usually it was about how Daryl could that leery faggot touch him like that, kiss him in front of everybody. If Daryl hadn’t any honor left in him. Any shred of dignity and healthy pride of a Dixon to punch that guy in the face. Daryl had punched, but the face had been Merle’s. Again.

After the winter, Daryl and Paul had moved back to Hilltop and Daryl had seen Merle only occasionally on gatherings, from afar and not speaking one word to him.

And then, one day, Merle had sought him out and apologized in his typical way of biting comments and snarky attitude, but Daryl knew him too well to not notice. They had been tentative around each other. Daryl, because he didn’t trust this new, tolerating Merle at first, and Merle, because he didn’t know how to act civil around Daryl and the guy he slept with. But Daryl hadn’t questioned it much. He was just glad he had his other brother back as well.

One day though, when he came to Alexandria to deliver the arrowheads Earl had forged, he had understood. Merle had been chasing Carlos and at first, Daryl thought his brother wanted to rip him a new one. But as Merle had caught the laughing boy, grinning himself and play-wrestling in the dirt, Daryl had snorted. Sure as hell, Maria had come over, planting a kiss on Merle’s cheek that he didn’t refused, and demanded they both get back inside, because dinner was getting cold.

“Well, congrats, baby brother. Ya did it before old Merle, I guess.”

Daryl bumped his shoulder. “Did a lot of things before ya.”

“Ya did for sure. An’ I’m really proud of ya, ya know? World’s gone to shit and ya didn’t just survive. Did build somethin’. Made this a whole lot better for a whole lot a people. Ma baby brother’s finally all grown up, man.”

“Stop that bullshit. Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the others. Or ya. So, thanks, I guess.”

Merle hummed, gazing out over the people around the fires. “For some Dixon men we sure were damn lucky.”

They fell silent after that, watching in content silence the party. Light footsteps came closer and Daryl smiled into his cup of cider. 

“Here you are.” Paul stepped over to him. “Hey, Merle.”

Merle cleared his throat, fidgeting with his cup. “Yeah, well, welcome to the family an’ all that.”

Paul blinked. “Thanks?”

“Yeah, anyway”, said Merle turning towards the fire, “I’m gonna go. Don’t wanna hear how ya gonna celebrate or I’ve ta cut ma ears off.” With that he took off, leaving Daryl and Paul, who still stared bewildered after Merle. They both tolerated each other, but actually saying nice things to the other’s face was still a rare occasion.

“He’s right, you know”, Paul whispered suddenly directly into Daryl’s ear. “We need to celebrate. Alone.”

Daryl snorted and shook his head. He was actually tired to the bone and pretty sure Paul felt the same way. Celebrating sounded nice, but Daryl doubted they would get past kissing. “Alright, lead the way, Mr. Dixon.”

Paul took a step back with his eyebrows raised high. “Oh, Dixon? How am I Mr. Dixon now and not you Mr. Rovia?”

Daryl shrugged and nudged Paul forward to their little cabin, a grin on his face. “As Merle just said, yer family now. _Dixon_ -family. Don’t look so shocked, it’s a privilege.”

“Privilege? For what? I’m your husband now, that means I already have all the privileges that count. Kissing you how often I want.” Paul pulled Daryl close by his belt, smashing their lips together. “Calling you _babe_ , while you fuck me.” Daryl moaned into Paul’s mouth. Okay, maybe they would get past the kissing. “Fucking _you_ into the mattress with my name on your lips.”

“Fuckin’ shit, Paul,” Daryl groaned, biting into Paul’s lip.

“So, really, what privileges, Dixon?” Paul leaned against the door of their cabin, looking at him with a smug smile and heavy-lidded eyes. Daryl still couldn’t believe this man wanted _him_.

Daryl stepped closer, crowding Paul against the wood, and tugged at the tails of the new bandana that peaked from the sleeve of Paul’s shirt. It wasn’t red and faded, but Paul had kissed Daryl as if he had just brought him the crown jewels of the Queen of England as he had tied the rag around his wrist this evening.

“If ya had asked me that question like, five years ago when I was still driftin’ around with Merle, not givin’ a shit other than where my next cig would come from. I would’ve said the privilege of bein’ a Dixon is that yer like a cockroach. No matter how often people stomp on ya or what poison they throw yer way, ya’ll always come back and annoy the fuckin’ hell out of them.”

“And what if I ask you now?,” Paul said softly.

“Now?”, Daryl huffed out a laugh and looked straight into Paul’s eyes that glistened in the moonlight. “Now I’m gonna say that the perks of bein’ a Dixon is – even if the world’s still throwin’ shit yer way – yer gettin’ a family, even when ya didn’t want one. Yer findin’ a home, when ya weren’t even lookin’. And yer gettin’ someone, who sees through all yer bullshit and failures and still stands beside ya. Tells ya that yer a good person.”

Paul’s smile turned soft as he put his hands on Daryl’s chest. “Sounds like a good name to have, then.”

“Paul, I don’t give a fuck about the name. We don’t really have to change anythin’, ya know? I just … just wanted to tell ya that I feel like a goddamn lucky bastard havin’ you.”

Paul leaned up on his tiptoes, bringing his lips close to Daryl’s without touching them. “I know. I feel like a goddamn lucky bastard as well, so … I guess it’s Paul Dixon now.”

“Paul …”

“I love you, Daryl.” Paul kissed him, soft and gentle, his fingers in Daryl’s longer, messy hair.

“Love ya, too, Paul,” Daryl whispered against his lips.

Paul froze and Daryl’s heartbeat suddenly sky-rocketed. Paul might have said those words a few times, but Daryl had never. Until now. But Paul didn’t give him time to fully grasp the easiness with which the words had left his mouth. He pushed the door open, pulled Daryl inside and locked them up inside their own four walls.

After that it was just a push and shove and shedding of clothes. They fell into the bed in a tangle of limbs and hot kisses, tugging each other closer, until Daryl pulled Paul up to his knees, spun him around and pressed inside that tight heat, biting down on Paul’s shoulder. Paul’s hands were in his hair, twisting his head up until their mouths met in a messy kiss. He arched back against Daryl, moaning, while Daryl’s hips smacked with obscenely loud slaps against his ass, pounding into him and hitting Paul’s prostate with the same unerring precision that turned Paul into a shivering, moaning mass since day one.

“Love seein’ ya like that. Love all the sounds of ya, Paul. Love how ya feel. Love ya, Paul, love ya, love ya, love – fuck!”

Daryl’s orgasm hit with such an intensity that he almost blacked out on Paul, who bit into the tendons in Daryl’s neck, whimpering. Paul’s hand flew to the wall they were about to plant face-first into, because Daryl was suddenly a dead weight on Paul’s back, and a bit of come drippled between their joined bodies and down Paul’s thigh. 

Fuck, they totally forgot the condom.

“Daryl,” Paul panted. His arms quivered with the effort of holding them both upright and Daryl kissed the corner of his mouth as he grabbed his cock and Paul came with a scream.

They fell asleep as an exhausted, filthy mess, neither of them caring much until the following morning, when Daryl woke with caked dirt and dried come between his thighs.

Groaning, he wanted to roll out of bed, because it itched like hell, but Paul, looking fast asleep, was quicker. His arm shot out and he pulled Daryl back into the bed.

“No, not so fast, Mr. Dixon. You got me all sore and icky. Time for revenge.” He peppered Daryl’s face with kisses that truly shouldn’t feel that nice, since the sweat of the last days still clung onto his skin. But Paul crawled on top of him, pushing his legs apart. 

Daryl arched an eyebrow. “Really, now, Mr. Dixon?”

Paul just grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.”

It was almost noon when they finally emerged from their cabin. Their stomachs grumbled loudly and Daryl felt a bit guilty for rolling around in bed – well, rolling around together, Paul on top and making love to him so slowly Daryl was sure he was going crazy with the need to come – while the rest of the community was back at their chores again.

As they pulled their door open, something slapped them in the face.

“What the –“, started Daryl, as Paul yanked the cloth down.

“ _Just married_ ,” he read. The letters were bold and vibrant. Underneath was the drawing of a nice looking bike, but instead of the typical cans attached to the rear, someone had tied little cords with small bags dangling down to it. 

Paul opened one, glancing inside. He threw his head back laughing, as he pulled the contents out to show Daryl. It were earplugs.

“Guess we’ve been a little loud then,” he grinned.

Daryl wanted to go back inside and never come out. Christ, probably the whole Hilltop had heard them having sex.

“Don’t look like a rain cloud, honeybuns,” joked Paul, pecking Daryl on the lips. “At least, they now what to expect being our neighbors.”

“Don’t know what is worse,” grumbled Daryl. “This or that we didn’t even notice someone putting this up on our front door.”

“I think it’s a nice gesture,” said Paul putting the cloth back up. 

Daryl’s eyes fell on the wooden sign, that wasn’t on their door yesterday evening either. Paul stood still beside him, blinking at it.

_D. & P. Dixon_

“Yeah, yer right. It’s nice,” said Daryl into Paul’s ear, before kissing his temple. “C’mon, _sunshine_. I’m starving.”


End file.
